Sparks Amongst the Ashes
by silver sniper of night
Summary: In the aftermath of the revolution, Katniss and Peeta return to 12 and attempt to heal. However, returning to a world that no longer exists is not easy.  A different look at the last chapter of Mockingjay.
1. Dead Things

**A/N: The time line of this story take place during pages 446 to 455 of Mockingjay. It will be an expansion of this time in novel, but the events themselves are not exactly as was written. I do promise though that they will have the same conclusions. Please keep that in mind when reading. **

**Thank you so much to Bookgeek80, Goldenhair2 and Rae Cullen for their beta and pre-reading skills. **

**I hope you enjoy the first chapter. **

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**Dead Things**

Their tendrils had an odd, fascinating colour. Root to tip, they wind for life and substance, not used to the light and air that they've been forced into. I found myself clawing at the ground, hands covered in earth and ash, creating an underground cavern to lay them to rest. I couldn't let them die, so I had to trap them, push the flowers back into the depths of the ground, deeper and deeper.

I gagged, a reaction so common I barely moved. I closed my eyes and tipped my face to the sun, feeling the burn on my still singed skin, revelling in the knowledge that I am above. I waited until the urge disappeared, before lowering my head focusing this time on the pattern. They were evenly spaced, my obsession of the morning demonstrated in the neat row of evening primroses that now fenced the house. Peeta's constant shoveling had been too much, so I'd told him I didn't want them the day before. He had left without a word, the brushes still there and the pattern barely started. I'd awoken today with an uncontrollable urge to plant them, to stop them from dying, to put them back where they had been ripped from, without warning or reason. I'd cursed the boy that had done it, drained them and removed them as I tore holes for them, graves or homes, depending on how you looked at it. Could something grow and live in soil where so many had died? Could they survive in a place that had been destroyed and flushed out by fire and carnage? I didn't believe so, but I couldn't take the chance I might be wrong.

"Do you need help?"

His voice was a break from my mind, something I wasn't sure I was ready to listen to. He'd been back less than two days and was walking, talking and functioning. This was the first time I'd voluntarily performed an activity that wasn't essential to my continued existence. I didn't want help.

"I'm fine."

I could see his shoes, black and artificial in the garden, and too clean when put against my hands. It wasn't right. He needed to leave. I wasn't sure what I would do if he didn't, but I wasn't able to send him away.

"Katniss... your hands..."

I paused, lifting them, focusing on the burn and black and flesh. No nails; rough skin covered in ashes and decay and dead things. The dirt seemed to cluster, move and twist. It began to spread, over and over, covered and swarming over skin and burn, clutching and taking...

"Katniss!"

I dropped my hands, looking up for the first time at Peeta; his form blocking the light. It was just the shadows. Shadows and dirt, nothing more.

We stared at each other, just staring, nothing exchanged or given.

"Why are you using your hands?" he asked, kneeling down to my level, meeting me back on the ground.

I shrugged, not really wanting to explain that I didn't have answers for any of my actions. I wasn't in control of what my body did, it moved and functioned as it saw fit. Peeta didn't reply, so I continued to create another hole, before collecting another primrose to add to the line. Once I'd packed the soil around it, secured it and made sure it had the best chance I could give it, I started again. I moved the same distance along and began to dig. Dig, plant, pack, move, dig, plant, pack, move.

I didn't notice when Peeta left.

#~#~#

I woke up as pain and blinding noise combined. I managed to crouch into a clumsily defensive position before I realised that the noise had been a glass smashing as I had fallen out of bed and crashed to the floor. My head must have borne the brunt of the impact as everything was darkened with static as I stood. I shouldn't have put the glass so close to my bed, nothing so close to my bed stands a chance. My throat was scratched and dry, a sure sign of screams that didn't even register in my subconscious. I occurred to me that I was probably keeping Peeta awake with my constant dreams, but there's little I can do to change that, and I didn't want to ask.

I checked the flowers as soon as I was able, making sure that I'd not destroyed them in one night. They were still standing, my barrier of primrose. I felt relieved, different from how I'd felt when hearing of Gale's new life, but relieved all the same. My attention was drawn back by the familiar sounds of the cat's need for attention, and something inside my chest caught. The tears of the night before resumed as I tended to the bedraggled creature that was once my sister's, and increased when I spoke to my mother. By the afternoon I was drained and tired, but strangely alive. I realised that it was good to feel, feel something now that I had given the time to do so. But only for a while. After that I became forced into feeling, and recalling things that my mind doesn't ever want to reach. So once the phone line are dead again, my eyes were closed and I was cleared of everything.

A noise at the door forced me to move myself from my slump, and I grudgingly went to answer it. Peeta was there, with bread that smelled like the town, the past, and something too sweet and too good to make sense. I smiled, and moved out of the way to allow him in.

We moved around the kitchen, silently and knowingly collecting all we needed to make a meal. It reminded me of when this house was full of people, when this place was a home and I'd contemplated running. But that memory was wrong and disjointed in my mind, as if belonged to a different person. The people in that home were dead, or dead to me, and Peeta had not been a part of that. He'd been in his own home, with his own family that are now the ashes that salt our earth. It occurred to me then that I'd never visited his home. I'd never turned up with something to offer and been welcomed as he had. I realised that for all I knew about Peeta, how he lived his daily life was not something of which I was aware. I didn't know why that suddenly bothered me so much.

"Eat," Peeta said, gesturing to the bread and cheese that had appeared on the table while I'd been lost in my mind.

"It's not the same, I know," Peeta said, breaking the silence that we'd fallen into. I looked up, wondering what he was talking about, only to see him staring at a slice of his bread, studying it carefully.

"It's not right. The texture's too rough, the dough hasn't risen enough and the taste is too salty."

I swallowed the lump of congealed mixture within my throat, unable to come up with a complaint. I couldn't remember the last time I'd really concentrated on my meals, but I was sure that fresh bread was been a luxury that I'd not experienced in a while.

"It tastes fine," I answered, but he didn't remove his eyes from his slice. I watched warily as his lips moved silently, his eyes scanning the bread and seeing nothing real. I stood slowly, but didn't dare move to him. He'd not had a negative reaction to me in so long, but my mind still had a problem reconciling that part of him. I'd run into his arms without caution once, and now I couldn't persuade myself to do it again.

"Peeta..." I whispered carefully, trying to pull him back from where he was.

He didn't reply, his lips still moving silently as his hands crushed the bread between his fingers. His knuckles were white, blood draining and pooling, fragments of food falling and moulding into the shape of his palm.

"Peeta!"

He stopped, dropping the pulp of food instantly, his eyes focusing at my raised voice. He closed his eyes and touched his temples, before excusing himself. I watched him leave, unable to take my seat again until he returned.

"Thank you," he said softly as we resumed our meal, and I nodded. We didn't mention it again.

#~#~#

"Is it even worth trying? I doubt there's much a doctor can do for me over the phone," I said, not voicing the fact that there was nothing to be done, period.

"Well tough luck, sweetheart, it's what you have to do. Pick up the phone, talk, and do as they tell you. Unless you'd like to go back to the Capitol?" Haymitch asked sweetly, pouring the amber liquid into a beaker clearly not intended to house alcohol.

I glared but didn't reply, knowing that it was true. If I didn't start answering the phone, I'd be dragged back to the hospital before I knew it. Haymitch took a swig of drink, a satisfied smile surfacing as his old comforts returned to him. I didn't even want to ask what his new poison was; the usual clear liquid being nowhere in sight. As long as I didn't make the mistake of drowning my own sorrows again, everything would be fine.

"You checked on your boy today?"

I ignored him, pretending to busy myself with clearing the table. There wasn't really any mess there, Haymitch having suddenly developed some sense of pride on returning to his old living space. Perhaps the destruction of twelve and the alternative of thirteen had made an impression.

"I wouldn't leave him alone for too long, if I were you. Your mind plays tricks when you're by yourself. Easier for the voices to come back, to let the memories in. Why do you think someone's always knocking on your door? Do you think you're the only one who gets visitors?"

I turned slowly, not expecting to hear that reasoning. I'd spent my days consumed by my own mind, unable to break out enough to think of anything more. It had been easier to see the interruptions of my solace as an annoyance, and not something that I should be doing myself. I hesitated, not sure if I should be checking in on Peeta anyway. I still wasn't sure what to do about him at all.

"I don't know if it's a good idea," I answered, this time taking a seat rather than pretending I was otherwise occupied.

"Because of things he said to you? Because he tried to kill you? Or because the other one's gone off and left you?"

Anger. Blinding, aggravating, and oh so familiar surged, and I was on my feet, the chair on the floor before I even realised what was happening. Once I did, I stopped, the feeling disappearing instantly. I closed my eyes and willed it to return, the constantly empty ache taking it's place.

"It's... I just don't know if I should," I said, unable to really understand why I thought that way and where the sudden anger had come from.

"Remember what I told you about helping? He's constantly looking out for you, yes? So do the same. There's nothing more to it than that."

These occasional pearls of wisdom from my drunken ex-mentor were alarmingly accurate. I wasn't going to doubt him, knowing the trouble that disagreeing with him would lead to. I was sure that even without devices where he could talk into my ear constantly, he'd find a way to make my life hell if I didn't take his words on board.

I left him to his drink, and slowly wandered back towards my own house. My skin stung and I shrank away, the clouds having cleared since I'd left. I hadn't bothered with any salve to protect myself, forgetting that I was more vulnerable than ever. The winter wouldn't be any better either.

Instead of turning towards my primrose surrounded house, I walked slowly to Peeta's trying to think of a reason for being there. I had no flowers of food, nothing but instructions and a small flicker of responsibility. What could I say, that Haymitch reminded me that I owed him? That I'd seen him crush bread with his hands and was worried it would spark a chain reaction that would end with his hands on my neck once more? No.

I sighed and decided to knock anyway. I wasn't going to suddenly come up with a reason, and standing out in the heat wasn't an option. I waited, the sound of my knuckles on wood fading away. Nothing happened. I stared up at the house in frustration, waiting for a sign of movement. I received none. It wasn't early, so I doubted he was still asleep, but he could always have left the house. Not that I'd seen him leave his house recently, but I couldn't say that I'd been watching.

I waited for a few minutes longer, then gave up, unwilling to stay out much later. As I turned, I glanced into the window, only for second. I stopped, catching sight of something that looked out of place. I turned back, not wanting to stare into someone else's window, but unable to simply leave.

Within a few seconds I was running, going back the way I came, a scream rising in my throat as I approached Haymitch's door.


	2. Little Noises

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I am really glad you all enjoyed reading. **

**Rae, Laura, Amanda and GH are all fantastic, especially because they pre-read all this for me. **

**Thank you to Bookgeek80 for the beta. **

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**Little Noises**

I couldn't recall the garbled mixture of sounds I made as I pounded upon Haymitch's door. My mind was still reeling, focused only upon the scene in the window. I had no time to make sense of words and actions, and I charged back towards the house, Haymitch huffing behind.

"There's blood," I managed as Haymitch caught up, his face grave as he stared at the door. I resisted the urge to scream at him for just standing there.

"From now on, I get a set of everyone's keys," he muttered as he put his weight into the door. I winced as the wood cracked and splintered, the noise of groaning wood echoing around us. Despite the fact that these houses had withstood the attack on 12, they weren't in the greatest condition.

As soon as a gap appeared, I was in, running through the entryway and into the main room where Peeta laid sprawled on the floor. The blood was deep and bright; splatters and streams making patterns on the wooden floor. It was hypnotising, the way it fell and seeped, but nauseating in how it didn't affect me as it should. How many times had I seen Peeta bleed in a similar way? After every cut and scratch and wound I'd witnessed to his body, I'd probably seen it empty itself of blood. Yet I just stared, unmoving, instead of being worried or disturbed.

"Wake up girl!"

Haymitch was now beside Peeta, staunching the blood that was still escaping from a cut across his forehead. Once the world was back in focus, I realised that Peeta was awake, muttering something to Haymitch as he tended to the wound. I crouched down next to them, mindful of the blood on the floor.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice stable despite my shaking hands.

Peeta's eyes moved to my voice, unfocused and brighter against his pale skin. Everything in this house was wrong and too bright. It was too warm and early for blood to be spilt, and in this calm and peaceful place, it shouldn't happen. People weren't meant to smash and split open. I looked away from his face, unable to deal with the ashen tone of his skin and the way his eyes searched mine too deeply.

"I fell."

Even his voice was wrong and empty, and I stood, making myself an observer rather than a participant. My movement sent my head spinning, blue static crossing my eyes as Haymitch spoke.

"Go get someone, Katniss. Head wounds bleed like hell, and I need someone who can actually stitch him up."

_It's not as bad as it seems, Katniss. Head wounds bleed a lot, a small cut can seem much worse because of that. Trust me, I can fix it. Mom showed me how._

I ran before the ghosts and the blood could catch me.

#~#~#

"I'm not giving you a key," I said, not bothering to look up at Haymitch's looming form.

"Neither am I," Peeta added, from the couch, making me smile. It seemed our days of being in agreement with one another against our mentor were not over.

Haymitch stalked towards me, and I glanced up as he brought his face close to my own.

"What happens next time then?" he hissed, his voice antagonistic, "What happens when we can't get the door open? When we can't get to you..."

"I'll give Katniss a copy of my key," Peeta said, causing us both to stare at him.

My stomach curled unpleasantly at the statement. I didn't want to have the responsibility of a key. Although it was nothing more than a piece of metal, and for us a safety precaution that was obviously needed, my mind couldn't ignore the symbolic nature. It seemed however that Peeta could, and I wasn't sure what bothered me more.

"Katniss was the one that noticed there was a problem, the only reason you're here is because she brought you. It makes more sense that she has it," he reasoned, making perfect sense as he always did. I realised I should probably agree to what he was suggesting. I didn't particularly want anyone else to have my key. This was my house, and I didn't like the idea of anyone entering without my knowledge. But if I were choosing between Haymitch and Peeta, the choice was obvious.

"Peeta can have a copy of my key. That way there's no need for you to worry or come over here," I replied.

Haymitch had no choice but to agree with this, and soon left us, but not without mentioning how ungrateful we were for his help. He slammed the door pointedly as he left, and I was trapped alone with Peeta.

"You don't have to stay," he said, obviously picking up on my unease.

"I do. You hit your head, someone has to stay and make sure you don't have a concussion."

Peeta didn't look happy about this, but didn't protest. The silence between us was stifling, and there was hardly anything in his house to distract me. The house looked almost new; unlived in but ridiculously tidy. I wondered if Peeta had cleared everything out when he'd returned to 12. I'd contemplated doing the same, throwing away everything that reminded me of before the rebellion, but that thought had lasted barely a second. I couldn't do that, no matter how painful it was to be reminded everyday.

"I know you're meant to stay with me, but I feel fine. It looks far worse than it is, I only needed four stitches, so...

"What actually happened?" I asked, sitting up and facing him directly. Peeta didn't reply, staring fixedly at the ceiling. I sighed, getting up and moving to stand near him. In reply, he swung his legs onto the floor, making space for me to sit. I wanted to protest, but one look at his face told me I wouldn't be successful.

"I know you didn't just fall," I said, my voice seeming harsh and cold in the silence, empty house.

"I... remembered something. I closed my eyes for a second then... I fell I guess," he said, cutting the story short. I waited, wondering if he was going to say anything more, ask if what he remembered was real. But it seemed he was certain this memory was real, and like most things that are real for us, he didn't want to dwell on it. It aggravated me, but I wasn't sure why.

"You should eat," I announced, standing and retreating to the kitchen before he could say anything in response. I shook my head as I walked away, annoyed that I could barely even hold a conversation with someone who, not so long ago, I'd been willing to give up my life for.

The layout of our houses was exactly the same, so I walked through the bare hallway toward the kitchen. As I entered, I was stopped in my tracks by what I found there.

While the rest of the house was immaculately clean and tidy, the kitchen was a disaster. The walls were splattered with colour and ingredients, dishes, bowls and equipment cluttering up every surface. Cupboards were open, the sink piled high with dirty cutlery and crockery. And everywhere were the spoils of this mayhem. I walked around the kitchen softly, as if I would disturb something of significance if I were to tread too heavily. Olive bread, soda bread, tomato bread and seeded loaves stood in rows of different shapes and styles. Batches of cookies, all identical and perfect, cupcakes iced intricately and delicately. Muffins, layer cakes, enough food for a full stocked bakery. And all of it untouched. I had no idea how Peeta had even managed to get hold of enough ingredients to make all of this, let alone where he had found the time. Had he even slept?

I shivered, the meticulous nature of the kitchen giving off an eerie feeling, and I decided it was probably best to put some of this food to use. I had no doubt some of it wouldn't last much longer, and I hated the thought of all of this going to waste. I tested the breads, picking one that was close to going stale. I managed to salvage two plates and found some cheese and meat in the fridge. There was hardly anything else in there, and I made a mental note to make Peeta get some food in the morning.

I felt strange leaving the kitchen in such disarray, and I wasn't in a hurry to go back to the empty silences. So I cleaned up as best I could, trying not to move too much but cleaning all I could reach. I actually felt somewhat lighter after I finished, and with a little more drive than before, returned to Peeta.

"I made us some lunch, but you don't have much in the way of..."

I broke off, dumping the plates onto the table as I saw Peeta laying slumped on the couch. I ran, my heart pounding as I skidded across the floor and to his side.

"Peeta!" I hissed, jumping onto him in an attempt to revive him. It was only when his face was so close to mine that I realised he was breathing. I stared at him, my head so close to his, feeling him exhale every few seconds, until I was completely satisfied that I'd overreacted. After a few minutes, I sighed and clambered off him, glad no one had witnessed my panic.

I retraced my steps, retrieving the plates of food before returning to Peeta, sitting down on the floor with my back against the couch. I needed to wake him in an hour anyway, and at least if I sat close, I'd be able to spot the first sign of anything being wrong. I leaned my head against the couch, chewing on the food silently. Every so often Peeta twitched or hummed, little noises that told me he was alright. I wished I had something to do other than just sit there. For the first time in days I wished I was active, rather than living inside my head. The mess in the kitchen called to me, but I was too worried that something would happen to Peeta if I left, and it would be on my head.

I started as Peeta cried out softly, his arm dropping off the couch and onto my head. I winced and sat up, ready to wake him.

"Peeta," I whispered, clinging to his hand, not wanting to wake him too roughly. I knew from experience that waking violently did more harm than good, and with a head wound it would only make things worse.

Instead of waking, Peeta simply turned his body towards me and settled, his hand clinging onto mine. I waited, my eyes darting from his mouth to his chest as I obsessively checked his breathing, but he was fine. He was still alive and whatever had bothered him seemed to have passed. I smiled slightly, remembering a time when we were all each other needed to keep the nightmares away. I sat back against the couch, his hand still clutched in mine. I felt calmed knowing that, at least for one of us, some things couldn't be taken away.

#~#~#

"I just... I'm not sure it's healthy. I only cleaned, the kitchen was a mess. I didn't move anything... well apart from the bread that I used, but he was really upset and angry."

I realised that I was putting off talking to the doctor about myself, but in all honesty I did want to understand why Peeta had reacted so strongly to what I'd done while he was asleep. I'd woken him after an hour, and although he had been groggy and unpleasant, he had sprinted into the kitchen when I had offered him the plate of food. He'd screamed, yelling at me to get out, really distressed that I'd touched something. He had been panicking about things being out of place, that nothing was how he'd left it. I'd tried to tell him he couldn't live in a house with a kitchen so dirty, but he didn't seem to hear me. In the same manner as the night before, he had continued to mutter to himself, swearing that he "needed to make more, to make it how it was meant to be." I'd left, telling him that I would be back in the evening, not giving him the option to refuse. He reminded me so much of the Peeta that was fresh out of the Capitol, and I couldn't stay there. The phone had rung almost as soon as I'd walked through the door, and I knew I couldn't keep ignoring the calls for much longer.

"Katniss, it is extreme, you're right. However, I'd say Peeta's dealing with everything better than you are," Dr Aurelius said, causing me to halt in my pacing.

"What?" I questioned, annoyed and offended. I wasn't spending the entire night baking and my days screaming at people trying to help me, yet I wasn't doing well?

"Peeta's trying. He's baking, he's attempting to do something rather than letting his thoughts consume him. Neither of you are going to be able to deal with this overnight. Incidents like today are going to happen with Peeta, especially so soon after leaving the Capitol. You won't wake up tomorrow and be able to put it all behind you. It's going to take time, but it will happen. That is, if you try."

I stayed silent, not seeing where he was coming from. I was screaming and staying up all night 'doing things.' This meant I could actually function in the day. I was pretty sure that, despite what Peeta said, if he'd been more awake, he wouldn't have tripped during his flashback. None of the flash backs I'd ever experienced had resulted in my head slamming on the floor.

"If trying ends up like that, I'm not sure it's a good method," I said.

"So sitting alone in your house with your memories is helping you? Are you going to do this for the next few months? Weeks? Years? Can you sit here and tell me what you're doing is the healthy..."

I slammed the phone down, unwilling to listen any longer. I stared at the receiver, daring the doctor to call again, to tell me what I should be doing. How I should be behaving like Peeta, acting just as he'd done in 13, and being indulged in the same way. I waited, picking out the lines to say; to ask why my behaviour was always questioned. I wasn't the Mockingjay any longer, there was no need to make me something I wasn't. I didn't need to be the other half of Peeta's perfect routine, lest the Capitol discover how we truly felt. Except I didn't feel. I didn't feel anything anymore, so it was useless trying to perscribe any sort of cure for me. I continued to stare, willing the phone to ring with all my being.

It stayed silent.

#~#~#

It was dark by the time I arrived at Peeta's, tripping my way between our houses and to his open door. I didn't want to be here, but the nagging voice inside of me said that I should check on him again. He was there waiting, smiling anxiously as he moved to let me through.

"I saw you leaving," he explained, taking my jacket before I had a chance to move. I smiled weakly at him, unnerved by how quickly he snapped back to being the Peeta I'd first met.

"I don't know if you've eaten, but I made us something," he said, gesturing towards the table.

"I didn't eat, I lost track of time. Thank you," I answered, following him into the room. I was glad he seemed to be using the food he'd spent all that time making.

"I'm sorry I was so rude earlier. I shouldn't have shouted... I just..."

"It's fine. Really, don't worry," I said, cutting him off before he could explain. His face changed while he spoke, and I knew he didn't want to explain exactly what he had been feeling a few hours ago. My mood wasn't receptive this evening, and I didn't want to set him off again

He nodded, began to eat, and I did the same. Our conversation felt strained, but it was expected. We didn't really have many subjects to speak of comfortably anymore, and even when we did, we tip toed around each other, too wary of a negative response. When I admitted I'd spoken to Dr. Aurelius, Peeta's eyes lit up, genuinely happy that I'd picked up the phone. It made me ache that doing something so simple for myself could cause him so much contentment, especially considering the thoughts that had been running through my mind during the phone call.

"I have to ask you something," Peeta began, his eyes glued to his empty plate.

I braced myself, knowing that tone of voice too well.

"I died. Real or not real?"

I blinked, confused and a little worried about what he was thinking when I remembered. The way his body flew back from the fence, the way my breath caught and my limbs began to shake when I couldn't hear his heart beat. I closed my eyes as I watched Finnick bring him back to me, save him when I'd left him to those creatures...

"Real," I replied, putting those memories back where they belonged. I opened my eyes and stared back at Peeta, watching as his eyes fell away from mine.

"I was afraid you'd say that" he murmured, his voice echoing loudly in the empty house.

I wondered if I should tell him to stop asking those questions. He never got the answer he wished for, and I almost wanted to tell him that none of it was real. By telling him everything was real, I was fueling another episode like this afternoon, another obsessive night of trying to make everything perfect.

I couldn't tell him it wasn't real though. He deserved the truth, even if it wouldn't help him in the long run.

"I should go. It's late," I said, standing and backing away from the table.

"Oh, okay, I'll just..."

"I can get my coat. You don't need to walk me out. It's not far," I insisted, needing desperately to leave the room.

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow," Peeta said, collecting our plates and managing a grimace.

I nodded, just once and not in agreement. I could cope one day without seeing him, and I certainly didn't like feeling this responsible for him. I was still keeping him alive, keeping him sane even though we were no longer an alliance against the Capitol. I practically ran from the house, from the light to the dark and cold of my own room.

Except I couldn't sleep. Instead, I spent the whole night against the wall, listening for the little noises that told me Peeta was still breathing.


	3. Broken and Boxed

**A/N: Thank you so much for all of the support for this story. I really appreciate it, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. **

**Thank you to Amanda, Goldenhair, Laura and Rae for pre-reading. **

**Thank you to my lovely beta, Bookgeek80.**

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**Chapter 3- Broken and Boxed**

"Katniss!"

For the second time I ignored Peeta shouting my name, and continued to haul the television into town. I needed it out of my house, and out of my sight. I'd cleared up the glass, fragments cutting into my fingers and pricking at my skin. My fingers had bled before I'd noticed. Nerve damage was something they'd warned me against, but I couldn't bring myself to care about cuts and scratches.

I'd put the broken pieces in the trash, but the machine still taunted me. I tried taking it outside, tried leaving it in the garden. I couldn't. So here I was, dragging it into town towards the crates that were being used for the ashes and rubble that had once been my home. The path under my feet changed from patterned stone to scattered soil and miscellaneous material, signalling that I'd reached town. It was there that Peeta caught up with me, running past and standing in my way.

"What... happened?" he wheezed as I walked past, not in the mood to stop and .

"My television broke," I answered as he fell into step beside me.

"How? It was fine last night."

"These things happen," I muttered, increasing my pace as I caught sight of Thom. I tried to block out the noise his shovel made as it scraped across the ground. He looked up as we neared.

"Broken television?" he asked, gesturing to the box. I'd searched for almost an hour to find the right box. I couldn't carry it otherwise.

I nodded, and he dropped the shovel, taking the box from me.

_Don't look in the box, don't look in the box, please, please, please don't look..._

Without a second glance, Thom slung the box into the crate, a satisfying crash signalling that the object had finally met it's end.

"I'll tell them to send another on the next train," he said, his smile reminding me too much of someone. I turned away.

"It's fine, don't worry."

Apparently this was not the appropriate answer, as Peeta then explained that he had a spare. He also informed Thom that he'd be down to help later, and with those words I was running. I tripped three times, my eyes burning with every step.

I was in the woods before I knew it. It was ridiculous how there were parts of my day that just disappeared, time that just wouldn't stay put. It had taken me until this morning to realise that this was an issue. I slowed, leaning against a tree, then sank to the forest floor, panting and exhausted. I was once able to run for my life, run into battle without looking back. Now I couldn't even carry a television without my limbs aching.

I'd hunted a few times recently, but I wasn't as good as I'd once been. My aim was off and my kill rate was low. There wasn't exactly much prey, and those that still lived were more cunning than I. My head sank to my knees, and I knew that the woods were the last place I wanted to be today. But exactly where could I run to? The town was full of more of the dead than the living, although people were returning more frequently than I had expected. I could sit in the woods and remember, or go back to the house and wallow. I could sit with Haymitch and watch him drink, or sit with Peeta and have him ask me about the crashes and screams of this morning.

Peeta liked to talk. Little questions, little comments, most of which went unanswered. He didn't seem to understand my silences and glares, or at least didn't care. Everyday included one or two invasive questions, just things that I didn't want answered. Yet he still persisted.

I pulled my head up, and urged my body to follow. My arms braced the tree, and I leaned against it, feeling tired and restless. As I slowly forced myself to walk back towards the house, I looked over at the parts of the town I could see. It no longer looked like the setting of a massacre, the ash and bodies having been tided away. The bones of tall buildings were all that could be seen, remnants of a living world.

I shivered and looked away, my attention focused upon the house I had to return to. I pulled the key from my pocket, unlocked the door and walked on autopilot into the living room. I froze as I walked in and saw that Peeta was already there, installing a new television where the old one had been.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I asked, my voice louder and higher than I wanted it to be.

Peeta span around, his eyes wide and empty. I waited for the life to return to them before I walked into the room. That look was the only thing that could keep my anger at bay.

"I brought you a new television," he said slowly, the words drawn out as if he were afraid I wouldn't understand.

"Why?" I demanded. I'd specifically said I didn't want a new television. What gave him the right to go against that?

"I had two in my house. I obviously don't need them both," he said, only aggravating me more.

"I told you, I don't want one. Peeta, stop!" I yelled, as he turned back and ignored me. I marched up to him, but right before I got there, he turned and moved.

"You going to smash this one too?" he said, standing and facing me, his fists clenched and shaking.

I stopped, closing my eyes at his accusation. I knew really that it was wishful thinking to believe he hadn't realised what happened. I could pinpoint his movements during the day, know when he would leave, return and what room he spent most time in. This morning I'd smashed and cried, screamed and thrown objects. I wouldn't be surprised if the few occupants of 12 had all heard me.

Instead of replying, I walked away, running yet again from something I couldn't escape. It only occurred to me once I'd reached my bedroom that this was my house, and I shouldn't be the one forced to leave the room. Buttercup glared at me as I closed the door, not liking my rude interruption. I glared right back until he chose to ignore me, my anger being beneath him.

Anger. For the first time in so long I could say I was feeling something. I sat on my bed, my arms dangling uselessly by my sides. Peeta was trying to help, in a way that was completely opposed to what I wanted, but he was trying. I just couldn't tell him, couldn't explain. He wouldn't want to know that I'd just had the television on when _he_ was there. In district 2, all perfect tone and sculpted hair. Smiling. Explaining. Speaking. Smiling as if there was no war, explaining as if he'd never left me, speaking as if he'd never condemned so many of those people to death.

I'd stared. Just... stared while he spoke, the barely recognisable form of a person I'd once cared for. I don't remember when it happened. One minute Gale was smiling, teeth shining. The next I was sobbing, sparks flying from the broken television causing me to scream. My boot was on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass and broken plastic. The screaming followed, and I'd backed away, stumbling as the electronics frazzled and threatened. I couldn't remember doing it. I didn't know why, if there was a word or a phrase that just triggered it, or if it was just everything. That place, him, his words; I wasn't sure. So many things had slipped from my memory. The events of days, even weeks between being in the Capitol and this moment just didn't stay in place. Why did this fraction of a second bother me so much?

I sat until the sun went down, the glow illuminating before and disappearing. Peeta left, the door closed and then his footsteps found my ears through the walls. I imaged I could see him, know what he was doing. It was easier to imagine than to think. I stopped when it was dark enough to be time to eat, and I trailed down stairs, turning on every light as I went. It made me think people lived here.

I avoided looking at the new television. The house was too quiet without it, but I couldn't take a chance that I would break it. Now time had passed I felt exceptionally guilty for breaking it. Considering what little those who had returned to 12 had, a girl smashing her television for no real reason was exceptionally insulting.

Every move I made echoed, and each creak and movement of the building had my heart racing. Shapes of shadows had me spinning in fright, and I couldn't stand how easily my mind created ghosts in corners. I retreated to my room, running past doors I dared not open. Buttercup was still on guard, and curled up by my feet as I slipped into bed. I stared at the shadows and listened to Peeta through the wall, the only lullabies my mind would allow.

#~#~#

Rue held onto my hand, tugging me through the trees. The sky was dark, rolling clouds of grey and white tailing us. The faster we ran, the darker it seemed, but she continued to tug on my hand. We were running downwards, her fingers were cold and sharp, her nails dug into my flesh, and I knew that I would bleed. But I wouldn't let go of her, not a second time. The branches of the trees became claw like, bare and thin, scraping against my skin. We didn't stop running, and the sky turned black, illuminated by red and orange flickers.

I stopped, pulling hard on Rue's arm.

"We have to keep going! Come on, Katniss, come with me!"

I followed, the trees now gone, leaving us with a dark sky and bright spirals of colour. The ground was leaking, muddy and slick. It seemed to burn with each step, a dull ache that warned us. We slipped forward, towards the oranges and reds that twisted and beckoned. I didn't want to go. I stopped, turning back the way we'd come. The trees were dark, but I could see blues and greens. Real sky and real nature that called out to me. We were going the wrong way.

I pulled Rue back, trying to bring her to safety.

"Katniss, no, you're going the wrong way! You said you'd come, Katniss!" I turned, her face begging, pleading me to come towards the flames.

"There's nothing good that way!" I cried, trying to save her. I dragged her a few steps, pulling her away from the dark, but she was too heavy. As I tugged her she screamed, her voice high and piercing. I dropped her arm in shock, and fell to the ground. I turned immediately, ignoring the fire and the clouds and I crawled through the mud, my skin stinging. Rue remained face down, as still as a doll when I approached.

"Not again," I whispered, pulling her into my lap and turning her over.

Except it wasn't Rue. Prim stared up at me, her skin a patchwork of red and black, peeling away into the air. Her eyes met mine, bloodshot and damaged beyond repair. I stared into them, unable to break away from her dead gaze. Suddenly, her arm moved and her hand clasped my throat, squeezing and pinching. I gasped, struggling for air, dropping her and clawing at her hand. Flecks of skin and ash came away, but her grip never wavered. All the while, her empty eyes stared on, staring at the person who let her die...

I woke, the scream still echoing through my ears. I clutched my hands over my ears, thankful that I'd managed to rouse myself before anything else could happen. I knew that dream had not been close to ending, and forced my eyes shut as my mind began to wonder what could have been.

I jumped, my body locking in shock as yet another scream echoed through the room. My breathing hitched, my eyes darting around the room for a few moments before my mind truly woke up. There was no one in my room, and my scream had not woken me. Peeta was screaming next door. I relaxed slightly, but not enough. I wasn't sure what I should do. I knew I wouldn't sleep now, not after the nightmare and the noises from next door. Should I try to ignore the screams, or should I see what was happening? I knew if someone had tried to wake me, I wouldn't be pleased. However, images of Peeta lying in his own blood were too fresh and painful for me to ignore.

I stumbled through the dark, switching on lights and ignoring closed doors until I found Peeta's spare key. I didn't bother with a jacket, but simply left the house without another glance. My barrier of primroses looked eerie in the dark, so I hurried by before they looked too much like tiny fingers beckoning to me.

His house was just as dark, and my footsteps seemed louder in the empty rooms. I turned on the lights, but his house was even worse at night than it was in the day. There was nothing of comfort in this place.

"Peeta!" I called as I reached the second floor. There was no answer, and I didn't expect there to be. It just seemed strange not to say anything at all.

The door to his room was open. I could see him from the hallway, his body twitching as he turned in his sleep. I knocked on the door as I reached it, hoping that the noise would reach him. Peeta stirred, but didn't wake, so I stole in quickly. I didn't want him to suddenly find me in his room with no warning. I wasn't sure what he would do if that happened.

"Peeta," I murmured softly, standing arms length away as I gently shook him. I feared if I got too close, he would snap when he woke up. I didn't need anyone else's hands around my neck tonight.

Peeta thrashed wildly once, then started awake. I jerked back, but his eyes found me, wild and too bright. He latched onto my arm, pulling me closer to the bed. I gulped, but I couldn't pull away. I couldn't let go of anyone now.

"They're all dead.. all gone, the fire, in the fire..." his voice was cracked, his head jerking to the side as memory and nightmare combined.

"I let them die, it's me... they died because of me..."

"Not real."

The words caused him to pause and stare, his hooded eyes begging for truth and rest.

"Not real. It wasn't your fault," I soothed as the grip on my hand lessened.

"Not real..." he murmured, his eyes closing as he slumped back down onto the bed. I watched as he muttered those two words once more, his body relaxing as he did. Within a few moments, his hand fell from mine, his breathing heavy and level.

I stayed for longer than I should have, making sure Peeta was safe from himself. I left the house, going back to where my nightmares awaited. I'd lied to Peeta, allowed him to sleep safely while telling him his memories were not real. It wasn't his fault, but everyone _was_ dead. No amount of lying or dreaming could change that.


	4. Something Old

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone reading. Thank you for supporting this story in any way, I really appreciate it. Just to let you know, my next chapter may take a little longer as my uni term begins this week. **

**Thank you to Amanda, Goldenhair and Rae for pre-reading and sharing their thoughts. **

**Thank you to Bookgeek80 for betaing. **

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**Something Old**

After running into Peeta's house in the middle of the night, listening to him had become my obsession. Before then, it had been an unconscious activity. Now I couldn't sleep, didn't dare go into my own nightmares unless I'd listened first. It didn't sit well with me. In the day, I didn't need anything. I wasted away the hours, staring at the primrose barricade, eating when I remembered and watching television when I trusted myself. At night, I had a routine. It wasn't of my own design. If I didn't listen for Peeta, didn't wait until he was asleep, the nightmares were unbearable. If I listened, then I'd be awake in the early hours, drenched in a cold sweat with a lingering image or a feeling that would last the morning.

Dr Aurelius had sent a bottle of cream colored pills on the train. They sat next to my bed, untouched and foreboding. I couldn't stomach the idea of swallowing a tiny capsule, even for the bliss of artificial sleep. They reminded me too much of being locked in a small room, craving the morphling my body had been deprived of. I'd take the nightmares over remembering those days.

The doctor wanted to talk about the night. Each week he'd call, ask questions and wait for an answer that never came. I was far better at waiting than he, so each week he dismissed our silences, and ended the call. Yet he always returned at the same time next week, never completely giving in. One of us would break eventually, but I was certain it wouldn't be me.

I had contemplated giving the pills to Peeta, but I wasn't sure if they'd help him. He had nightmares, though his problem wasn't in sleeping, but in waking from them instead. I'd seen him spend hours still stuck in a painful dream, while I tried to tell him it wasn't real. The days when he was stuck in an unpleasant memory were the better ones. It was easier to pull him out of something when I could tell him the event was over and that he was far away from the Capitol. The days when he thought every horrific thing he'd ever seen weren't real, those were the worst. The first time he'd calmly asked me where Prim was hiding was etched into my memory. I'd refused to speak to him for two days afterward.

I found myself in the woods more often than not. Old Katniss seemed determined to hang on to something in her world, even when her world no longer existed. I'd not seen Gale on the television again, but his presence was stamped into every tree and leaf. Some days it hurt, a sting that reminded me I was here. Other days it made me smile as I flicked berries into my mouth, pretending I could keep the old Gale and Katniss with me. I didn't have anything to do but wander and watch. I saw faces I knew creep back into our ghost town. With the mines gone, I didn't know how District 12 would function, but people wanted to find out.

It was a Monday evening, and I sat with my back against the wall, the phone against my ear. I'd been silent for a while, and watched the sun disappear behind the trees. Dr Aurelius had finished his usual amount of questions, and continued to suggest I try and fill my days with some sort of routine. I didn't see how that would help, and I hadn't bothered trying. I liked the doctor well enough, but I was tired of following someone else's plan.

"Katniss, do you know what the date is?"

The question startled me, disturbing our usual silence.

"No..." I replied, feeling a sudden sense of complete chaos. Time had passed by, that I knew and could realise. But not knowing the date made me feel unbalanced and wrong. There were dates I needed to remember. Seasons changing, festivals, births, anniversaries, endings and beginnings. I sat in silence, digesting this information until Dr Aurelius said his goodbyes. I stood up and walked away, going up the stairs and into my bedroom. As always, I listened to Peeta through the wall as he walked and muttered, his footsteps growing clearer as he moved into his room. Only once the noises ceased did I allow myself to drift into dreams.

#~#~#

As the sun rose, I started awake, the pictures behind my eyelids stubbornly refusing to disappear. I sat with my head in my hands, concentrating on my breathing and trying to remove them. It was so quiet, the deafening silence of the house making it difficult to distract myself. I couldn't hear Peeta at all. That in itself was strange, he was usually up at the break of dawn too. I found myself caught between jealously and relief at his ability to sleep, but dragged myself from my bed.

The quiet seemed thicker as I walked through the house, closed doors taunting me harshly. As I walked past the last door before the stairs, I paused for a moment. I turned and faced the dull wood, a strange urge to enter rearing its head. Unlike the other rooms, this one was not a forbidden space. I could enter; I just had no desire to. I hadn't seen the point in doing so up until now.

I carefully touched my hand to the metal of the handle. It was cold; colder than anything I'd touched in a long while. I imagined for a moment that the lack of use had caused the temperature to drop, but dismissed it quickly. It was ridiculous, no matter how true it felt. I pushed the handle down, surprised at the lack of resistance. The door didn't stick, didn't protest or shake, but opened as smoothly as it always had. Light slithered into the hallway, sun streaking through the gap in the door. I jumped as the phone rang, shaking my head and blocking it out as I slowly moved into the light.

The room was different that I last remembered. I'd not gone into it since before they sent me into the games for a second time, and since then, my mother had been here. This had been our storage room. The things that had no place went here, kept but not used. It wasn't exactly full, but somehow we'd still managed to need a place to keep useless things. It was the smallest room in the house, and obviously not designed to be a bedroom. We hadn't been sure what to do with it, and over time it became a dumping ground. There was an ugly looking mirror that had once hung downstairs. My mother had taken one look at it and flinched. It was stowed away pretty soon after. There were herbs and powders, medical supplies that were surplus or only needed rarely. I stood in the centre of the room, and turned slowly, taking in every inch. The phone started ringing once more as my eyes fixed on the wardrobe. It hadn't been there when I'd last seen the room, and a second later I found myself opening it.

I didn't expect much, and I wasn't disappointed. A bulky black dress carrier took up most of the space. I frowned, not having any idea what it could contain, but I didn't dare open it. It was left here and covered, and it wasn't me that should disturb it. Other than that, there were only a few outfits, the more elaborate clothing I'd once been provided with, and a few dresses that had belonged to Prim. I reached out an fingered the sleeve of the red one, remembering how uncomfortable she'd felt in it. The material scratched against my skin, and I dropped the sleeve. There were too many memories in something that had belonged to her.

I was about to walk away, when I noticed the hem of a dress tucked away behind other items. I reached in and felt around, pulling at the hanger with a shaking hand. The blue material spun before my eyes as I pulled the familiar dress of out the wardrobe. My dress from the reaping. The alterations were still there, pulled in to fit a gangly teen rather than an adult. It looked fresh in the morning light, as if it had been washed and pressed recently. I moved away from the wardrobe, taking the dress with me. It looked small, as if it had been made for a child rather than me. I wondered for a moment if it was the same dress.

Without thinking, I pulled it off the hanger, and pulled it over my head. The material brushed my face and arms like gentle fingers, as I pulled it down over my body. It fit. Actually, it was too big. Despite the alterations, it fell down without touching any curve of my body. That couldn't be right. I marched to the ugly mirror, desperate for it to tell me I was wrong.

It didn't. It was definitely the same dress, but my frame looked shrunken and changed within it. I could remember what I'd looked like when I'd worn it for the first time. Now I was thinner, my skin scarred and damaged. My hair was thin and broken, pieces missing and shorter than others. My eyes were wider, collarbone and sternum so pronounced that I could count each bone down to where the dress began. I didn't look like the same person who had worn the dress three years ago.

I looked away from the mirror as the phone began ringing once more. The sound felt far louder than before, echoing up the stairs and round the room. In annoyance, I turned and slammed the door of the wardrobe, satisfied at the noise it made. In the wake of the vibrations on the wood, something fell from the top of the wardrobe, hitting the floor. I jumped back, my reflexes kicking in monetarily. It was a book. I frowned moving forward, expecting it to be a discarded medical book of my mothers.

The book was open, a swirl of dark ink and coloured patterns meeting my eyes as I glanced down. The drawing that circled the text was so familiar I could have been reliving it. The picture made them appear dark and menacing, even though they were simply small fruits, no different than any in the woods. The word "Nightlock" was scrawled overhead, my handwriting so harsh and childish against Peeta's talented depiction of the deadly berries. I bent down and picked up my plant book, holding it as delicately as I had the dress. It was another thing that belonged to a different time and different people, precious as a memory of its creators.

When the phone rang once again, I dropped the book in anger. I couldn't handle the constant pull into the present, and in a rage I flew down the stairs, desperate for it to stop. The noise was painful in the silent stillness of the house, and I needed the quiet to be in that room.

"What?" I demanded into the receiver.

"Good morning to you too,"

"Do you want something, Haymitch?" I questioned, resisting the urge to bang my fist against the wall. There were very few people who had the number to this phone, and I was almost certain he had been calling all this time.

"Do you know what today is?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?" I said, barely resisting the urge to scream.

I heard Haymitch sigh on the other end, before he recited the date. I frowned, my anger disappearing almost instantly. I hadn't expected him to just tell me the date. I repeated the numbers out loud and in my head, trying to bring to mind anything that would signify its importance. At first I drew a blank, no dates at all coming to mind. Then slowly, occasions came to mind. Holidays, the day my father died, the Reaping, my mother's birthday, Prim's birthday, my birthday...

"Oh no..." I whispered, putting down the phone and running back upstairs to find my boots.

Peeta turned eighteen today.

#~#~#

I had a key, but decided it was probably better if I knocked. I waited, my legs shaking with unused energy as I listened for noises in his house. The silence of the morning made more sense now, and I was worried. At seventeen he'd had parents and brothers, a town and memory. Our world was completely different now.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the door creaked open. I tried to smile as Peeta appeared in the doorway, but my mouth wasn't co-operating. He stared at me, eyes glazed over, and I knew he wasn't really with me.

"Hi," I said, my voice soft as if speaking to a frightened child.

He blinked, his eyes widening.

"Why... why are you wearing that?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

I frowned and looked down, jumping as I realised I was still wearing the dress. My face burned at the knowledge that someone else had witnessed my re-creation. A sudden feeling of dread moved through me as I realised what this could possibly spark off for Peeta. But when I raised my eyes to him, he was gone. The door stood wide open, and I took it as an invitation to follow.

I guessed that he would be in the sitting room, and I walked in to find him sitting on the floor. The television blared quietly, an interview with a smiling woman from District 11, Peeta's eyes fixed on her every movement. Ignoring the chairs, I sat beside him. When he didn't even flinch, I decided to speak.

"Sorry about the dress. I... found it," I finished, realising that I couldn't define to myself exactly why I was wearing it.

Peeta turned at my voice, his mouth smiling, his eyes despairing. "I like the dress. I remember thinking that when I first saw you line up. It looked good on you."

Bile rose in my throat, and I had an urge to rip the dress from my body.

"I thought... when I opened the door I'd been dreaming again. You, in the dress... then I realised it was really you and not a memory."

I nodded. "No, I'm real," I said, but my voice held little conviction.

Peeta's attention was drawn back to the television, and I was once again at a loss.

"You can say it, you know," he said suddenly, causing me to turn and stare at the side of his face.

"Say what?" I asked

"Congratulations. I'm eighteen now. Officially no longer eligible for the Reaping. I'm free."  
And with that he burst out laughing, his head thrown back in mirth, his eyes scrunched up and his hands falling to his sides.

My mouth went dry and all thought left me as I watched him laugh. His voice was high and hysterical as his head dropped down. His hands lifted to cover his face, and my own arms twitched at my side. I didn't know whether to run, hit him or speak. Except I couldn't move. My body and brain were no longer working.

Within a few moments of staring and listening, Peeta's laughter changed. He sounded strangled, choking, as if something were tied around his neck. It took me a few seconds to realise he was crying. I closed my eyes, hating that I'd not realised sooner how much this day was getting to him. I sat up, walking on my knees to him, the dress collecting dust as I moved. I wrapped my arms around his hunched form, my head resting on his. He tensed as I did so, his sobs continuing with the contact.

"I'm sorry," I said, wishing that I was the one with the gift of words.

Peeta didn't move, didn't try to touch me. I just kept my arms around him, feeling awkward and desperate. I wanted to do something, even as his tears slowed and his breathing evened out.

"I don't remember what happened last year," he said, his voice rough and empty. At his words, I unwound my arms, and slid back onto the floor. I sat near enough to be in touching distance, but not actually touching.

"What do you mean?"

He lifted his head, his face red from tears and his hands.

"I just... I have no memory of my birthday. I don't know what happened. I guess it was something else that disappeared."

I paused, thinking about what I should say carefully. "Well... you would have been living here," I started, but Peeta snorted. For a moment I worried he would start laughing again. but instead he spoke.

"That doesn't really mean anything. I would have been down at the bakery if was with anyone else. I was the only one who spent time here," he said.

"What?"

"We still used the Bakery, so I lived here and everyone else stayed there. My brothers lived here at first, but just ended up staying there. It was easier, I guess."

"You were here... alone?" I said, marvelling at the fact I didn't know this. It made sense, absolute sense. There was nothing in this house, nothing that made it a home. I'd never seen Peeta's family during the six months that I'd been living next door. Of course, I hadn't tried to see him. I'd hidden in the woods, kissing Gale and being the old Katniss. Trying to forget the things I'd seen in the arena, and the part that I'd played.

A lot of good that had done.

"Not alone. You were next door."

A smile and sweet words had me remembering the old Peeta. The person who said the right thing, did the right thing for the right reasons, and still found himself on the edge of madness. In that moment, I remembered our storage room, and everything I'd seen.

"I found our plant book. The one my father started. Do you remember helping me with that?" I asked.

Peeta's smile increased and he nodded.

"Yes. You hurt your foot. We sat in your bed and made it while you healed."

I nodded, and all at once my tongue was set loose and I remembered. Conversations that we'd had, disagreements and memories that we both treasured and remembered. It moved from our joint experiences to separate ones. Events at school, home and in our families. We sat there, me dressed in my Reaping outfit and Peeta's face streaked with tears.

And we remembered who we used to be.


	5. Inside Glass and Paper

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, thank you so much for being patient. Thank you for reading and for the amazing feedback. **

**Love to Amanda, Lamia and Rae, my wonderful pre-readers. Special thanks and love to Bookgeek80 for betaing. **

**I hope you all enjoy the chapter. **

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**Inside glass and paper**

It had taken me almost two weeks, but I'd finally managed to go through the storage room. There were things in there that needed to be thrown away - herbal remedies that had turned strange colours, and which smelled of decay and death. Peeta eventually had to help me dispose of them, as each time I tried alone, my stomach emptied of its own accord.

There were useful medicines though. Bandages, basic sickness remedies, and even an old bottle of burns salve. I found something about using my mother's products to be both comforting and unbearable. The familiarity conjured images of the old lives we had shared, of a different lifetime that I couldn't recapture. After putting on the dress in the store room, I noticed how I sometimes tried to be who I was before. I had returned to my old home and tried to live my old life. I awoke and ate the same food, sustaining myself for hunting as if it was the only way to survive. I tiptoed past rooms in the early morning that no longer belonged to anyone; occasionally collected sustenance for Lady. I hadn't noticed it before. I'd imagined that I'd done nothing with my days, just watched as the sun rose and fell.

At first, keeping track of the days felt heavy, as if it were something I had to make a conscious effort to do. What I had before was easier. The time that didn't have a reason, events and changes that didn't need to be marked. It was simple, existing for nothing and just watching everything. Structure was harder. I started slowly, giving myself meal times that I had to keep to. It was partly due to Greasy Sae's comments about my eating habits, and partly due to the reflection I'd seen in the Reaping dress. Remembering to eat hadn't been on my list of priorities for a while, and it clearly showed. The small adjustment wasn't perfect though. The days had little difference, and while I kept track of them, I no longer had traditions or reasons to look forward to a particular day. I had often lost where I was in the week, but now I could find it again relatively quickly.

So when Haymitch informed me the train would be coming on Monday at eleven, I knew when to be ready. Peeta left his house at the same time I did, offering me a smile but no words as we fell into step beside each other. We hadn't spoken much since the night of his birthday. Although we saw each other every few days, Peeta talked less and didn't try to make conversation. I never knew what to say, so I didn't try either, leaving us in a silence that was somewhere between uncomfortable and bearable.

When we arrived, Haymitch was already there, sweating under the weight of a large crate of bottles and a brown sack that was balanced on top. I paused, waiting until he reached me to ask, "What's in the sack?"

He glared at me, sweat trickling down his red stained face. "Goose feed," he panted, stalking past me as best he could.

"You.. own a goose?" Peeta asked, his voice sounding faint and strange to me.

"Geese," Haymitch corrected before increasing his pace, stumbling as he tried to manage the weight.

"Maybe we should help?" Peeta asked, turning to me. His face looked gaunt, and paler than I'd ever seen it. His eyes were too bright and unfocused, flickering around instead of looking straight at me. Dark circles that I'd never seen before rimmed them, and I turned away from him, unable to keep staring.

I shook my head. "If he wants the alcohol that much, he'll get it back to his house somehow," I replied. I saw Peeta nod out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't look at him again. He looked exhausted and almost ill, but he wasn't acting as if he were sick. There had been no indication he'd been sleeping badly. I still listened for him at night, making sure he went up to his room and to bed before I did. I'd heard no screaming or crashes in the early morning;, nothing that told me his nights were disturbing.

As we reached the train, we were joined by others hurrying to receive what they needed. I hated this part. As I fell into step with the crowd, they edged away slightly, leaving Peeta and I in our own space. They gave us sidelong glances, occasional whispers fluttering past us. Not many gave more than a kind smile if I met their eyes, most looked away. They were wary if me, and I could understand it. They didn't fear or hate me, it was nothing like that. I think at times they were shocked I was still alive and sane, especially considering how I'd been painted in my trial. I'd hardly done anything to change this image, locking myself in my house and screaming in the dark. I put my head down and walked forward, hyper aware of how close Peeta's arm was to mine. I didn't blame them for how they saw me; part of it was my own fault. But part of me felt cheated. I'd never wanted to be noticed, to be a pawn in someone else's game. But I'd played that part, and now I had to deal with the aftermath.

We lined up silently, waiting for the boxes and parcels with our names on. I didn't receive much. A letter from my mother, containing several sheets by the weight of it. Another smaller letter with handwriting that made my stomach twist and hurt so much I needed to hide it away underneath the other letter. Finally, a small package that contained my medicine was handed over, and I walked away. I meandered my way through the few people surrounding the train, the letter in my hand whispering to me with every step. It made my fingers itch, and I willed myself to leave it alone. Why was Gale writing to me now? His last words to me had made it pretty clear that we wouldn't see each other again. My head became to ache as I walked, my limbs weightless as if they weren't my own. I couldn't read it. I didn't want to know what he had to say, there was nothing he_ could_ say anymore. The letter slid through my finger tips, dangling dangerously above the ground. I could drop it, tread it into the mud and earth, and it would be like it never existed. His words would melt into the earth, and if I didn't read them, then they had no meaning. They could do no damage and I could forget... couldn't I?

"Careful, you're going to drop your letter."

Peeta took the envelope out of hands and offered it back to me. He smiled while holding Gale's words, something that my mind completely rejected. I suddenly felt frustrated and annoyed for no reason, and I needed to leave. I snatched the letter from his hands and stalked away, crushing it in my palm as I walked. I expected Peeta to call out, to try and stop me as he usually did when I walked away. But this time he didn't try, and I couldn't bring myself to look back.

When I reached the house, my arms were too full to locate the key that was nestled somwhere in my pocket. I manoeuvred the letters and package around in vain until, with a hiss of annoyance, everything fell from my arms. I closed my eyes as my hands shook by my sides. I exhaled once and opened them, taking my key from my pocket with a shaking hand and opening the door.

I collected everything back into my arms, Gale's letter last of all. I dropped the letter on to the floor as soon as I entered, taking care with the other two objects. I opened the package, thankful to see the bottles hadn't been broken when I'd dropped them. I left my mother's letter for now, knowing I would need time and calm to read and feel. I wasn't able to do that now. Once I'd put the medicine upstairs, I wasn't sure what to do. I walked from room to room, up and down the stairs trying to find something to distract myself.

Everywhere I went, the letter called to me. I could hear it in my room, outside as I tended to the primroses, and in the bathroom. I imagined I could hear his voice as I walked past the closed doors of my mother and sister's rooms. The words he might have said flowed through my mind, mixed with things he'd once said to me. I continued walking, pacing the halls and rearranging things. I stalked into the bathroom again, pulling at the shower curtain, the wrinkles aggravating me. I pulled and twisted at it, trying to find a pattern or shape that made sense. I pulled once, twice, three times before the material ripped and pulled away from the hooks. On instinct I backed away with a cry, my back slamming into the wall. The curtain hit the floor, not with a crash or a resounding sound, just a gentle rush of fabric. I stared at it for a moment, willing it to do something, to stop his voice in my head.

When it failed, I turned my back on it and left the room in a run. I ran through the hallways and down the stairs, grabbing the letter from where had dropped it. I paused, feeling hot and out of breath, staring at the loops and lines of my name.

"I don't understand," I said as my fingers tore at the crumpled envelope, leaving it massacred and floating to my feet in pieces.

My hand continued to shake as I lifted the paper to eye level, attempting to make sense of the letters scrawled across the page. I added them up, created sentences and continued to stare at the paper even after I'd finished reading. My eyes centred upon the last paragraph of the letter, as if it would suddenly transform as I did so. But no matter how hard I looked, it wasn't going to change. My arm fell down, weightless and detached. I turned slowly. I walked up the stairs, still clinging to the letter, unable to let it fall completely. Eventually, I pushed it deep into my pocket, crumpling it up and making it as small as possible. A dull pain coursed through me each time I dismissed his words. I hated it that it still hurt, that he was still able to affect me through he was miles away. Each time I crumpled and damaged the letter, it felt like I was hurting him, and therefore myself. Yet I kept doing it, continued to make myself hurt. It seemed right somehow.

I walked past the closed rooms and into the storage room, situating myself amongst the organised past. The plant book sat on the floor, discarded and lonely. As I picked it up, I realised I couldn't remember why I didn't have a place for it. I didn't recall even touching it, but I dismissed the thought quickly. I smiled as I I opened the cover, the rough feel of the text reminding me of being a child. I recognised my father's handwriting instantly, remembering it far more clearly than I did his face. I didn't remember his face myself. I knew it from my mother's treasured photographs. I didn't know when it faded from my mind, but it wasn't there anymore. Would that happen to everyone? In five, ten, fifteen years from now, would I remember Rue at all? The words of her song maybe, but not her. What about Finnick? The person who'd saved my life and Peeta's. Would he fade too? Would Prim? Panic whirled up inside me before I could stop it, and I dropped the book onto the floor. My heart raced, and I squeezed my eyes shut in fear of loosing all that I knew.

"I remember, I remember" I whispered, thinking of the day I'd first been told I was a big sister. I remembered when she followed me into the woods, and how long it took me to get her to stop crying after I ran away. I thought of little things, big things, anything that would stop the chaos in my head. Eventually, with every new image, my heart rate slowed. I opened my eyes, the glare of the room causing me to wince. Once I had calmed down, I picked up the book and placed it back on my lap. I looked back at the page, the illustration of a herb found only by the river, that if mixed with water and honey would make a headache remedy. If chewed alone, it would cause vomiting. I flicked through a few pages, the earliest entries and the ones I'd memorized so long ago.

"Astragalus," I murmured, moving my eyes away from the page as I spoke the name. "The root is used for boosting the immune system. It can also be used for..." I stopped as my mind went blank, nothing more coming to me. I frowned, shaking my head and repeating what I already knew. That was where it stopped. I looked down in confusion, wondering if I had been mistaken in thinking that there was more on the page.

"As a treatment for bladder infection, colds and infertility," I whispered, the words making sense as I said them. I stared in wonder at the page. I could have recited this book in my sleep. Why couldn't I remember a simple herb?

I closed the book and opened it again at random, my father's flowing script greeting me once more.

"Kava... Kava..." I repeated, closing my eyes and trying to force myself through the barrier in my mind. "It can be used as a sedative... so therefore treatment of insomnia...dammit!" I cried, giving up and turning back to the pages.

"Also cures headaches and treats depression," I read, knowing I wouldn't have even guessed those answers.

"One more," I muttered, frantically turning to the most recent pages, the ones that mine and Peeta's hands had created.

But nothing there even looked familiar. I stared at the letters I knew I'd written, the pictures that looked like something I'd once known but no longer had hold of.

"This isn't happening!" I yelled, the sound echoing through my silent house. I slammed the book shut, wincing at the sound and forcing myself not to throw it away. I pulled my knees upwards, dragging my hands through my matted hair. All the important pieces of information my father had given me... the only part of him I thought I still had was gone. These herbs and plants were so basic, so obvious. I wrote them down for someone else because I knew them. Not to remind me of what I should already know.

I felt sick. I scrambled up, the knots in my hair catching on my fingers as I righted myself. I ran to the bathroom, slamming myself into the sink as I failed to slow down. I retched, my stomach heaving, but nothing coming out. After a few minutes I ran the tap, catching the water in my mouth, burning my throat as I swallowed. As I slowly righted myself, my face appeared in the mirror and for the first time in weeks my eyes refused to move away.

Just like I'd been in the store room, I was faced with a stranger. Not Catnip, the girl whose letter was in my pocket, despite everything I tried to do to get her back. For months, all I'd been doing was retracing my life, as if returning to District 12 had made me want to be Katniss of District 12. Not the Mockingjay, not the girl who killed Coin, survived rebellion and two sessions in the Games. Just Katniss Everdeen.

But Katniss Everdeen no longer existed. She was just a part of the other fragments that made up the person who looked back at me from within the mirror. I didn't know this person who stared back at me, and I didn't know how to be her. I closed my eyes, looking away, the letter once again making its presence known. In one swift move, I bent down and opened the bathroom cupboard, pulling out a pair of scissors and retrieving the letter. Standing, I put the scissors to the paper, determined to make the first cut. It wasn't my letter anyway, so why did it matter if I destroyed it? It was torn at the edges already, cutting it would only speed up the inevitable.

I stared at the letter, my finger frozen on the handles of the scissors. I moved my eyes slightly and once again caught sight of my reflection. Slowly, I lowered the letter onto the counter, and raised the scissors. I didn't hesitate this time. I just began to cut.

#~#~#

"Katniss, what did you do to your hair?"

It took Peeta less than a minute to ask. I didn't bother replying to this statement, it was obvious I'd cut it. Peeta sighed and sat down beside me, surveying the damage. I flinched as he reached out his hand and caught a jagged handful, running his fingers through it. It was oddly soothing, and not what I wanted.

"Why?"

There wasn't a simple answer to his question, and I didn't feel like divulging what had happened in the store room. It was hard enough that one of us couldn't remember what was real, we didn't need the other not being able to remember.

"It was too knotty. I hadn't brushed it in weeks," I answered, still staring at the television.

"Katniss, you've still not brushed it, you just hacked away at it with scissors," he said, his fingers catching in my hair as he spoke, proving his point.

"Well, now there's less to bother with. Does it even matter? It's just hair," I snapped.

Peeta ignored me, continuing to comb my hair with his fingers, the strands hitting my face gently. I suddenly wanted to cry, bury myself under blankets and curl up so small that no one would find me. But I just let Peeta do what he had to while I stared.

"It's really uneven Katniss, it looks like you did it in the dark. I could try make it neater for you if you want?" he offered, but I shook my head.

"It doesn't matter."

Peeta stopped and leaned back, his attention still focused on me.

"What was in those letters? Did something happen?" he asked, his voice slow and calm.

I turned abruptly, my now short hair following me as I did. Peeta seemed shocked at my sudden movement, leaning away, afraid of what I'd do. I was more concerned with the fact that even though I felt as if I had been turned on my head, he could still read me so easily. I watched as he visibly relaxed, his body tipping forward towards mine as he did. I'd never noticed that he did that before. I'd probably not been looking for it.

I broke his gaze, unable to say anything while he looked at me. Despite the fact that the letter still sat upstairs, framed with chunks of my hair, it's words still followed me downwards.

"Gale wrote to me," I started, hating the way the tension instantly descended upon us. Even the mention of his name caused different, yet familiar, reactions in both of us, but I had to finish what I was saying. It was better I just accepted what was happening.

"He's coming back to District 12."


	6. Forward and Back

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone reading and supporting this story. I really appreciate it. Thank you for being so patient while my life is crazy busy.**

**The lovely Zesty T has made a beautiful banner for this story. The link is on profile if you would like to see. **

**Thank you to Amanda, Lamia and Rae for pre-reading this chapter. Thank you to Bookgeek80 for betaing. **

**I hope you all enjoy reading. **

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**Forward and Back**

It was almost frightening how quickly nature began to recover. After the fire and ash covered the district, I almost believed it would stay that way forever. I couldn't recall the world that had existed before, and this new one suited my frame of mind far better. Yet it didn't stay. People couldn't live in a world that was broken and empty, and before too long, the temptation to re-build became too much. Nature was the same. Survival instincts overcome all, and the forest started to change and rejuvenate before my eyes. Hunting became easier, and I spent more time doing it. It was on my way back from the woods one day that I discovered they'd torn down the stadium.

There hadn't been much of it left after the bombings, but the area was completely cleared now. It seemed to be a high priority of those left behind to remove any trace of the old regime. But that ghost of it was still there. It was nothing but a blank space, a gaping hole with nothing to fill it. It did nothing but remind me of exactly what used to be there, and everything that had lead up to the empty area. I could almost see myself running, pushing others out of the way as I signed myself up for this new life.

I couldn't stay there, seeing ghosts at every turn. I backed away, my eyes caught on the space, unwilling to look away until I had to. There was something there, something that made me wish that the old world was still as it was. Would anyone remember what we did for seventy-five years? With everything changing so quickly, would our minds block out the past until death had no meaning?

I returned home, and back to the plant book. Distraction had become my way of life, and besides hunting, memorising became my method. Each day, I sat with the book, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours, and tried to recall the pages. Sometimes, I could recite and even remember the illustrations that went with the herb. Other days, only a blank page came to mind. I knew my memory wasn't what it once was. Even so, there were some things I had thought were ingrained so deeply I couldn't forget. I was wrong. There was nothing I could do except try and keep them from fading completely. I had long ago stopped reminding myself of everything I knew. Perhaps I should have started again.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is district 12, and that's where I returned to. But it's not the same place as when I left. I survived the Hunger Games and the war. Finnick didn't. Neither did Prim. Peeta is alive and with me. Although sometimes it doesn't seem like he is. Gale survived too. He's in district 2, and that's all I know. Apart from the fact that he's coming back..._

"Are you okay?"

Peeta's voice was soft and close. I turned and saw him sitting opposite me, watching me closely. I was used to this. His voice didn't startle me, or cause me to be on my guard like other unexpected noises. He spent more time in my house now than his. I thought he might be afraid of more incidents like the dress and my hair. Oddly enough, his constant presence wasn't frustrating. I assumed having someone around me all the time would feel like I was being guarded and observed. But it wasn't. His presence felt calming, and not intrusive. He seemed to meld into the background of my life, and soon enough it seemed as if he'd always been there.

"I'm fine," I answered, going back to the book, focusing on the words and pictures.

"Is there a reason why you've been reading the plant book day and night for the last week?"

I raised my eyes and glared at him, hating that he was Peeta and knew me too well. He sighed and shook his head.

"I'm just trying... I only want to help. If you want to add more to the book, or change something... I can help you."

His voice took on a tone that made me ache and remember his declarations of love and promises to cameras. Everything about that sentence felt wrong and broken, words failing the only person I knew to have power over them. All it did was remind me of what we'd lost and may never regain.

After a few seconds, he stood and walked towards the kitchen, leaving me to seek solace in silence. I looked down, my eyes blurring as I stared at black lines and curves, red borders and green leaves. With an impatient huff, I slammed the book shut, feeling like my head was full, but unable to bring anything to the surface.

I stood and marched to the door, shoving my feet into my boots and pulling my jacket on. I opened the door and walked out, closing it with a slam and letting my feet guide me. By the time I'd calmed, I recognised I was moving towards Haymitch's house. I also belatedly recalled that not only had I stormed out without taking a key, I'd not even bothered to tell Peeta I was leaving. Once again, my memory failed me.

#~#~#

"Is this really how you spend your time?" I asked, stepping forward towards the birds, strands of my short hair whipping into my face and eyes.

"I raise geese, you sit and wallow. We do what we do," Haymitch answered, only a slight slur breaking into his words. It was late in the day, so I knew the drink had been flowing. I wracked my brain trying to figure out how he remembered to tend to these animals while keeping himself securely numb with drink. I drew no conclusions.

"I don't wallow," I stated, dipping my hand into the bag of feed. I watched as the birds seemed to sense my movement, automatically scuttling towards me. I wasn't used to creatures doing anything but fleeing from me, so on instinct I threw the feed into the masses, cowering as I did. Haymitch laughed loudly at my reaction, and I spun to face him, half embarrassed and half annoyed.

"If you say so. I think your hair looks great by the way. Perfect way to win back your boy. Not that you need to, he's still pining over..."

"That's enough," I said, stepping forward and away from the feasting birds. "I'm not wallowing or winning anyone back. And don't mention my hair," I warned before grabbing another handful of feed and showering the geese with it. They snapped and clambered all over each other for it, desperately seeking sustenance even though they were always well fed.

"What are we going to talk about then? Because anything that needs to be talked about, you ignore. You're not going to be able to do this your whole life, Katniss. Sooner or later, you will have to deal with what happened."

I stared back at him, feeling the now familiar pulse of anger flood through me. Of all the people to lecture me, to tell me how to try and live, I never expected Haymitch to be the one to stoop this low. Doctors I could hear this from, it was their job. If my mother had tried this, I could understand it. But Haymitch didn't have the right or the authority to speak to me this way.

"So I need to deal with this. Just like you have?" I said, my voice hard and even as I gestured towards the almost empty bottle in his hand.

Haymitch didn't flinch at my accusations, but lifted the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. He lowered it, not taking his eye off me as he did.

"We all cope differently. If you ever decide to deal with what happened, I'm sure you'll find out how you do it," he answered, turning away from me and staring off towards the town.

I followed his eyes for a moment, before turning and throwing another handful of feed into the gaggle.

#~#~#

It was dark by the time I returned home, the lights of my house calling to me back across the short distance. It looked as if Peeta never left after all, something I was both surprised and grateful for. The door was unlocked when I touched it, and once opened, the harsh light and strong smell of fresh bread forced me into sensory overload. I slammed the door shut, but closed my eyes, unwilling to let the glare in.

"Katniss?"

I opened my eyes to find Peeta standing a short distance away. I must have zoned out as I stood in the hallway attempting to remain numb for a while. I blinked away the moisture and sting in my eyes before offering him a half hearted greeting. Now more focused, the guilt seeped in; the nagging of the unpleasant feeling my earlier actions had caused. I just didn't have the words or the knowledge of how to handle it. My relationship with Peeta felt strange and static, distant but undeniably close. I just couldn't seem to understand him in a way I believed I once did. I had no idea what to do or say, and he had always been the one with words.

"You didn't have any food, and I wasn't sure when you were coming back, so I baked," he explained, reminding me that despite my apparent need to remember, I'd forgotten to eat again. So much for a stable routine.

"That's fine," I answered, suddenly tired and at a loss of what to do. I wandered past Peeta without a word, finding myself back with the plant book, just as I'd been hours ago. I stared at the cover, my fingers itching to open and recall, but my mind too heavy and sluggish to comply.

"Here."

A plate of food appeared in front of me, I managed a smile of thanks as I took it from Peeta. He returned it and sat across the room once more, mirroring our positions of the afternoon. I ate slowly, my stomach hurting as I finally allowed myself sustenance. Peeta didn't eat, he just stared idly out of the window, which only made the guilt reappear at full force.

"I've been trying to remember," I began, the words tumbling out of my mouth and taking on a life of their own.

"I have trouble with things... slipping away. I can't remember half of this book, but I need to. Before I forget everything that... meant something."

Peeta didn't move or speak, and I instantly regretted my inability to control words. I picked up a sliver of bread and chewed it distractedly, until without warning, his voice broke our silence.

"I can barely sleep. My nightmares were never as bad as yours, but now I see things I don't remember happening, and things I wish weren't real. I don't remember the last time I really slept."

He didn't move through his speech, nor did he turn to face me. But despite that, I somehow felt better. I didn't know why. It wasn't because he couldn't sleep or I couldn't remember. Nothing in what we'd said made anything better. But for whatever reason, my head seemed lighter and everything less confusing. Peeta continued gazing out the window as I finished my meal. Chunks of hair fell into my eyes as I leaned forward and put the plate on the floor. I grimaced as I flicked my hair back, knowing I had to do something about it. Vanity wasn't my strong point, but an irrational part of me needed to at least appear the picture of stability when Gale arrived.

"Peeta..." I began, already hating this conversation.

Hearing his name, he focused his attention back to me, his eyes meeting mine for a moment, before breaking contact once again. I swallowed a lump in my throat, having to look down before I could continue.

"Could you help me with my hair? Just, cut it in a straight line at the back. I can't reach," I said in a rush, having to relive the fact I'd sliced it up in the first place. I hated the constant reminder of my moment of losing touch.

To my surprise, he smiled. "You know that means you have to brush it? Possibly wash it too?"

"I wash it," I muttered, narrowing my eyes in reply, until he smiled. The smile was fleeting, his lips curving upwards by no more than a few centimetres, but it still caught me off guard. He stood, announcing he'd get the scissors, and left me with the ghost of his smile. In recent weeks I'd seen him blank. I'd seen him cry, frown and laugh hysterically. But this smile felt unsettling. Smiles and comfort seemed too far gone and strange, belonging to the Peeta who existed before.

He re-entered the room and I watched as he moved to sit by me, waiting until the last moment to turn my back toward him. I tried to find the spark I'd seen just moments before, the part of him that mirrored who he used to be. But it was gone, and I wondered if I'd really even seen it.

"I've never cut hair before, so I'm not sure what to do," he muttered, his voice closer than I expected. I didn't jump or freeze though, just relaxed my shoulders and steadied myself. I stared across the room at the blank television screen, our figures partly reflected in it's greying surface. I realised as I watched us, I was allowing Peeta near my neck with scissors. A few short months ago, he'd tried to kill me. Repeatedly. Yet here I sat, unable to make myself move, or even feel fear that he would lift the scissors and stab them into my neck.

"Just try to make it straight," I said as blade slid close to my ear.

"I'll try my best," he replied, the words punctuated with snips and falling hair.

"I know you will."

#~#~#

"This show's been on for weeks. How have you not been watching?" Peeta asked with a yawn as I continued to scratch the back of my neck.

"I don't really watch TV," I answered.

"Right. You're going to scratch your skin off if you keep doing that," he added as he leaned back and closed his eyes.

"I have no nails so that would take a long time," I replied, but ceased anyway. I could swear tiny pieces of hair were still clinging to my skin, but I couldn't reach them. I stared at the screen, trying to assess what was happening and who people were. Peeta shifted slightly, muttering something against the sofa as he did. I closed my eyes against the harsh lights and colours, opening them to blur and defensive tears. After a moment, they slid shut again, preferring the gloom to the shapes and colours.

#~#~#

I awoke early with sun scorching my eyelids and a pain in my neck. The sun shone directly across the sofa I'd not moved from since last night. I felt warm and compressed, the television playing a song that jarred in my ears. My mouth was dry and sour, the combination of all these making me so uncomfortable I shifted upwards. Only then I froze, suddenly realising why I had been so uncomfortable. Peeta hadn't moved from the couch, and somehow during the night we'd gravitated to each other.

He was still asleep, his hair plastered to his face on one side, his arm draped across me. I watched him for a moment, my stomach churning uncomfortably. Sparks of fear, anger, contentment and confusion flickered through me but disappeared before they could register, leaving me numb again. This moment felt too much like before, and yet so very different. I didn't know how I should be feeling. Annoyance overtook me as I wondered why these feelings had to happen today with my mind otherwise occupied. Waking up this way left me both afraid and strangely fulfilled, neither of which I wanted to explore.

I peeled Peeta's arm away from my body, relieved when he didn't awaken. I stole out of the room quickly, not wanting him to wake up know what occurred during the night. I didn't know what his reaction would be, but if it was anything like to mine, it would end in yet another stilted and broken conversation. It was best left alone.

I cut off a piece of bread from the loaf Peeta had made the night before, eating it as I left the house quietly. As I stepped outside to see the morning clear and bright, I noticed it to be far later in the day than I'd anticipated. Even though I'd forgotten to check the time before leaving, it was easy to assume I was probably late. This was confirmed to me when I reached the woods, his figure standing in the same place where we'd always met.

I stood staring, watching the forest and Gale for just a minute. If I forced myself, I could pretend and go back to the past. I could blur my vision and imagine hunting for my family, providing and helping. But then the wind blew short strands of hair into my eyes and I was just Katniss Everdeen, burn scars and memory loss with no idea how to work through my confusion.

He heard me coming as I walked to him, but took his time in turning around. Perhaps, just as I had wanted to be who I once was, he wanted to be the old Gale again, but who I saw when I reached him wasn't who I remembered. I waited for the pain and ache I knew would come when seeing him face to face. Except it didn't. It felt as if I were suspended, upside down the blood rushing the wrong way. I felt ill and wrong, but there was no pain.

"I didn't think you would come."

His voice seemed the same, but sharper, a level of emotion and status behind it. Of course, he wasn't a Seam boy anymore, but a man with a good job and a promising future.

"I don't know why I did. I think old habits die hard," I answered, wondering if I should have tried to smile. Gale smiled though, a screen smile for a non existent camera. It fitted with the new him.

"Couldn't resist me?"

I didn't answer but looked away, my stomach turning as it had this morning when I woke up with Peeta. Memories of talks of choosing in the night, just before I watched my sister die, came to mind, and I found myself wondering why it had been so important that one of them have me. Neither of them did, and I wasn't a shiny toy to fight over. If anything, I was a broken and patched together rag doll, waiting for one false move to unravel my stitching. They had fallen asleep knowing we would be fighting for our lives all the while thinking of who I wanted. I didn't want anyone. I never had wanted anyone. I just wanted to make it to the next day. Yet even with that thought my stomach once again turned, and I didn't understand why my logic was faulty.

I turned back to Gale, and he smiled again, far more real and natural than before.

"Can we go back into town?" he asked, his voice smaller and less controlled than when he first arrived.

I nodded, but cautioned "There isn't much to see."

"I know, but I need to see my home again," he replied, his voice carrying on the wind.

This time I did smile, understanding and knowing although this wasn't my Gale, there was still a residue of him left underneath. Much in the same way Katnip still existed inside me.

Not bothering to speak, I turned and headed back towards town, and when Gale fell into step beside me, I didn't mind.


	7. Gale

**A/N: This took a lot longer than I expected, sorry for keeping you all waiting. Holidays and uni assignments took over my life for a while. **

**Thank you so much for continuing to support this story, I really appreciate it. **

**Amanda, Goldenhair and Rae are all amazing, but even more so for putting up with me and pre-reading. I love you girls! **

**Love and thanks to my beta Bookgeek80 for editing. **

**Hope you all enjoy! **

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**Gale**

"I saw you on television."

It wasn't the best opening, but we'd been silent for too long, and it was all I could think of. Unfortunately the memory of that incident was tainted with what occurred afterward, and my mind refused to recall these chain of events again. Shutting down was a default option I couldn't remove.

"Yeah? What did you think?" he asked, his entire face changing, brightening and almost pleading. The expression was strange to me, and it took me a few seconds to even work out what it was. Hope. My stomach churned and ached, because I struggled to recognise hope when it was right in front of me. Swallowing, I then realized I couldn't even answer his question. I had no idea why he had been on my screen, or even what he was doing with his life now. He hadn't mentioned it, and I hadn't asked.

"It was only for second. My television... broke, so I didn't really catch any of it," I stuttered out, guilt pouring out of every word. I made myself watch as all of the hope died, and his expression became neutral once more.

"It wasn't anything important anyway."

But it was. It had to have been. I didn't question him though, just continued to walk out of the woods and towards the town. We tried to talk. About our families, the way Twelve had changed, even about the different prey in District Two. But it wasn't really conversation. There were too many subjects which were taboo, too many memories we just couldn't talk about, and nothing we tried to say seemed right. Yet there was something there. There was a reason I hadn't just ignored his letter or told him I couldn't see him today. There were things I couldn't seem to erase from my mind, and my tie to Gale was something I seemed unable to break.

I could remember when it was easy being with him. I could remember how I assumed we would always be what we were. If I survived to adulthood, we'd marry, continue as we were. It was logical, simple and probably what most people expected. It wasn't messy. It didn't make my heart pound and my stomach hurt and my breath halt. He could hunt; he worked in the mines and cared for his younger siblings. He was a good choice for a husband. I didn't see the other side of him that became so obvious in warfare. His hatred of the Capitol ran deeper than I had expected, but looking back it had always been there. His rage in the forest on the day of my selection had seemed like nothing to me. His treatment of Madge seemed harsh but was nothing out of the ordinary. But it was. I didn't know he would go so far, hate so much that it practically consumed him. The Capitol pushed him too far, and he reacted. Yet they pushed me even further. I was their toy, their target and the symbol of all they despised.

Yet the only person I killed in cold blood was Coin.

"Do you know what they're building instead?" Gale asked, cutting into my thoughts and pointing out towards where the stadium had once been.

"No," I replied, having not even assumed they would replace it with anything. Rebuilding wasn't a concept I had even considered. It was strange, now that I had thought of it. They couldn't just leave a wide open space. They wouldn't just clear the rubble of the damaged buildings and put nothing in its place. They would build new shops, new houses and new facilities for the few of us who remained. Just as nature had continued, so would people. In our own way.

"It will probably be some sort of memorial, even if it's just a small one. That's what most of the districts are doing. Statues, a plaque, preserving the area. No one really wants to just start again, at least not with that land."

"Why not?" I asked, genuinely curious. Gale looked confused, as if the answer must have been simple and easy to figure out.

"No one's going to remember this after us. We'll move on, forget about The Games and everyone who was associated with them. Even if we try, people won't believe it actually happened. Why would they? Why would anyone live in a world where their children were sent to fight to their death?"

My voice had risen, carried by the wind and filling the space between us. As the words echoed back to me, my chest began to ache and I suddenly felt sick. No one would know about this. No one would believe us, believe what we'd seen and done. At the end of the day, what did I really know about this? I'd never known any more than anyone had wanted to tell me. I'd played a role, been a symbol but really all I'd been was a face. I had no idea what had happened in the other districts in the past few months, let alone what the plans were for the future. And they didn't want me to know. I'd made sure I would never a play a part in plans for the future by killing Coin. I was just a crazy victim of all of this, spent too much time in the Games and running from the Capitol. Even seeing me alive in a few years would be enough to keep the world happy. I was nothing. And for the first time I actually realised how afraid that made me.

"That's why we're doing all this, Katniss," Gale said, his voice soft, as if approaching a disturbed animal, "We're making sure that future generations know what happened, and understand how much we suffered under the Capitol."

His words were practiced and polished, and without even knowing for sure, I was almost certain that was a marketing campaign. The knowledge made me push past him and walk toward town. I only took a few steps before Gale called my name, marching to catch up with me.

"I don't understand what you want from me!" he said, his voice harsh but oddly quiet. I shook my head in confusion.

"I don't want anything from you, you're the one who turned up here and wanted to see me."

"I was coming here anyway, I couldn't turn up without seeing you," he answered, turning away when done with his attempt at an explanation.

I wasn't hurt that his visit wasn't about me. I felt relieved, an emotion I never thought I'd feel when it came to Gale. I didn't hate that he was here, but I didn't want him to try for me. I knew if he had come to Twelve and hadn't seen me, I would have been hurt. This made sense. This was, in a way, what I wanted. But I had a feeling it wasn't what he did.

"You left, and I didn't do anything. I knew you'd come back here, this was always your home. But I don't understand why you would want to," Gale began, turning back to me. He moved forward and took my hands in his. His grip was firm but light, balancing more than supporting the weight of my hand. I let him continue to do so.

"We know you're not crazy. We know what Coin was like, what she had become. Katniss, you could help rebuild Panem. You're the Mockingjay, you fought for us, you are the revolution. You could come back with me, today if you wanted. It has to better than being here, living in a bombed out District that was all we knew before the revolution. You can do better now. We can do better."

His hands tightened on mine, and I looked up at him. I knew that look on his face, and I still hated that I could make him feel that way. But I didn't want to kiss him, didn't feel the need to make him feel better because he was Gale.

"I'm not the Mockingjay, Gale. I'm not the same person. I did... I did what I had to. I'm not what they need now. I belong here. I didn't ever imagine I would go anywhere else, and I don't want to leave. I don't think I can leave," I said, trying to make him understand things that I wasn't even sure of.

Gale didn't say anything, but dropped my hands almost immediately.

"I need to go now, I have a meeting. I'll see you later?" he questioned brusquely, leaving everything completely up to me.

"You know where I live," I replied pretending I'd not noticed his change in tone, and returning the choice to him. He nodded, leaving me with one last stare before turning his back and walking away.

#~#~#

I was disappointed to find Peeta had left my house. Being by myself wasn't appealing, but deliberately seeking him out was even less of an option. I used to thrive on silence, but there was too much going on in my head I didn't want to deal with. I tried the television, but it was just noise and static, and the couch smelt like Peeta. That was until Buttercup sat in his place and filled the room with the smell of wet cat. All in all, it was unappealing, and I soon left the room.

I meandered around the house, searching for something to occupy my time. I wasn't exactly sure what Gale meant when he said he'd see me later. He didn't mention staying here for a long period of time, and seeing as I'd turned down his offer of leaving, I couldn't imagine he'd stay for long. I sighed and continued to walk, having made my way through the entire lower floor, and found myself heading towards the stairs. I passed the phone, and stopped. There were three numbers on a sliver of paper, tacked to the wall. I stared at them dubiously, knowing there was only one person I could call at this moment in time. I'd already ruled out Peeta and my mother would be busy. But I didn't want to call. I didn't need to call, not really. Except, I felt as though I should, because now it seemed as though everything had changed since this morning. Maybe it had been changing before that, so slowly I hadn't noticed. I didn't want to stay in silence until Gale turned up, so it was my only option. Grudgingly I picked up the handset and dialed the number, waiting patiently until the familiar voice of the doctor met my ears.

#~#~#

Gale arrived soon after I'd finished my conversation with the doctor. He offered me a small smile and he walked through the house, taking in what was once a familiar place for us. I was calmer. Doctor... hadn't said much, didn't tell me what to do or analyse what I'd said. I'd just talked, about how the gaps needed to be filled, and were filling themselves without my knowing. About the fact I couldn't be blank, no matter how hard I tried. He hadn't given me an answer, hadn't told me how to fill them. I guess that was something_ I _had to do, eventually. But not in this moment. Now, I was just working out how to handle this situation.

"How was your meeting?" I asked as he followed me into the kitchen. I began slicing bread and cheese, the best meal I could give anyone. I needed to go hunting, and bring Peeta something in exchange for all the bread he was baking for me.

"It was fine, just as expected."

He didn't elaborate, and I didn't ask. I don't think either of us wanted to concentrate on the meeting. I passed Gale his plate and walked to the sitting room. I was hungry, not having eaten since breakfast. The bread was slightly hard, but good- some of the best I'd ever tasted. Even after everything, Peeta could still bake, just as I could still hunt. It was probably the only things either of us could still do as we had before.

"You don't have to eat it," I said, noticing Gale hadn't touched his food. Bread and cheese probably seemed like scraps compared to what he was used to. He seemed to jolt at my voice, removing his gaze from the meal and looking at me.

"Oh, no, I'm going to," he said, the silence then descending as we both began to eat.

"I take it you see him often? Peeta?" Gale clarified.

I swallowed, not wanting to have this conversation. It seemed petty and meaningless, for Gale to come all this way to hash out a could-have-been romance.

"I'm glad," he said, his words shocking me. He smiled sadly, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "I'm glad neither of you are alone. Not after... well, the past few years. I can't imagine what it was like for you, either of you, in the Games. I don't want to imagine it. I've watched it for years, but living it... even seeing you in there... Maybe that's why this wouldn't have worked. I didn't go through what you did, and I won't ever be able to understand what it was like."

"I would never wish for you to know," I replied, my voice barely escaping as my throat tightened.

Gale smiled, fully this time and meeting my eyes as he did. "I know. There were many times when I wished my name had been called instead of his. But it's just fate, I suppose. It wasn't pulled, and I didn't go. We can't change that, and this is where we are."

He stood then, slowly but with purpose. A spike of fear went through me as I realized he was going. Going with a sense of finality that I'd felt before but not really appreciated. I wasn't numb now, not completely. And I didn't want him to leave. I'd know him for years, and although it wasn't ever going to be what it was, having him gone completely was something I couldn't comprehend.

"Don't..." I tried, and he stopped, looking down on me.

"I can't stay here, Katniss. You know I don't belong here. I'll see you again, I know it. I failed you. I let Prim die, and that's on me. I see her in you, and you see her dying in me. For now, I have to go."

He walked past, and I didn't say anything as his footsteps grew quiet and the door slammed shut. He was right. Completely right, and yet it hurt. It hurt because through everything, Gale had been there. I hadn't felt him leave before, and my mind had barely been able to process anything. It hadn't mattered. I thought I was going to die, so why did it matter? I wouldn't survive to be able to feel. Except I did.

I don't remember how long I sat, before collapsing on the sofa. It was dark when Peeta arrived. He sat down next to me and held my hand when I didn't speak or tell him to move. I just cried, for the second time since being here, feeling everything.

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**A/N: Happy New year everyone, I wish you all the best in 2011! **


	8. Need

**A/N: Thank you for all your kind words and support. I'm glad you're still enjoying the story. I'm sorry it's taken me a while to get this chapter out. **

**Thank you to Amanda, Lamia and Rae. I love you guys, thank you for pre-reading and being so supportive. **

**Love and thanks to Bookgeek80 for betaing. **

**I hope you enjoy reading. **

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**Need**

Peeta slept on my couch Sunday evening. He slept there again on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. He spent most of his time in my house, so sleeping here didn't seem strange or ridiculous. It was comforting to me, having someone else in the house, and not having to listen through the walls for signs of life. I didn't tell him this. We didn't talk about his sleepovers or his presence in my house. We didn't talk about the night I cried over Gale as I held his hand, and I knew this unspoken agreement was for my benefit. There were times when he would start, or open his mouth as if to say something, but changed his mind at the last moment. So we continued, spending most of our time together without actually mentioning the reasons why.

I felt guilty that he spent his nights on the couch. I'd heard him stirring, walking around at all hours, so I knew that he wasn't getting enough sleep. I knew in the back of my mind I should clear out a room for him to stay in. But as long as I'd been back in Twelve, I hadn't ventured into the other two rooms in my house. I couldn't even bring myself to do it for Peeta. It seemed ridiculous to be afraid of opening a door and stepping inside a space I'd been in countless times. The doctor assured me that the anxiety was normal, that everything would take time. It was frustrating, but if there was something I had too much of, it was time. I could wait.

"I'm making breakfast." I heard Peeta say from the kitchen. I shook my head and smiled to myself. I had no idea how this had happened. It seemed so natural for us to behave this way, but at the same time, I was still wary. I couldn't shift the hesitancy to believe everything was fine and looking up. In my life, things didn't suddenly look up. There was always a catch. I cast one last look at the couch, and decided Peeta really shouldn't sleep there anymore. He needed to actually rest rather than wander my house at night.

"You don't have to sleep here if you're uncomfortable," I told him as I walked into the kitchen.

Peeta snapped his head up at my sudden entrance. I froze just inside the door, staring at him as he stood facing me, clutching a knife in his hand. My body tensed, not sure if I should run or stay put. I didn't have to make the decision. Almost instantly, Peeta dropped the knife, both of us watching as it clattered onto the work surface.

"Sorry," he muttered, his face red and eyes downcast. I moved quickly over to him, sorting out the plates and food while he composed himself. I couldn't help but watch him out of the corner of my eye as he sliced the bread.

"So, you don't want me sleeping on your couch?" he asked, handing me two slices. I could tell he was trying to keep the conversation light, but the tone of his voice betrayed him. I hated the hurt I heard there, how I'd managed to create it even though I was trying to help him. I only wanted him to sleep well, not to insult him.

"It's not that. You just keep getting up during the night. I know its not comfortable sleeping there, so don't feel like you have to," I explained, hoping to sound a little less cruel.

"I don't walk around because I'm uncomfortable. I'm just not sleeping. I haven't for a while."

"What do you mean not sleeping?" I questioned, thrown off by his completely casual tone.

"Well, I sleep for short periods of time. I have to, but other than that, I stay up."

I stared at him in shock as he ate his breakfast as if nothing were wrong. I'd known there was something going on with him for weeks. I'd worried about it, but never pressed it any further. I tried to remember the last time I was certain he'd slept properly. Apart from when we fell asleep on the couch, I couldn't remember. And I hadn't noticed until it was right in front of my face.

"Peeta, why didn't you tell me? I have sleeping pills, I could have..."

"No." his voice was harsh and final. "No, I don't want anything like that!"

I felt the anger at his response well up inside me, so I closed my eyes and fought it back. I opened my eyes and tried to think of something to say, but the phone rang before I had a chance to reply. I walked away, knowing it had to be my mother calling.

"Katniss?" she asked, her voice seeming so close despite the distance. I smiled at her need to still ask if she were speaking to me. There was no one else who would pick up the phone, and no other number she used.

"Yes, it's me," I answered.

Her voice changed with the confirmation, and for a while it was easy. I talked to my mother more now than I probably had when we lived together. I missed her, in a way. I'd spent all my life wishing she were stronger, wishing she would get out of my way and let me do what I had to. Now, I wanted her here. I wanted her worrying about me and using her medical skills in an effortless and brilliant way. I understood her. I understood what it was like to shut down now. I'd held it against her as a child, hated how she'd been so consumed in her own grief that she couldn't look after her own children. Now I knew what it was like to be numb and to just exist because there was no other alternative. I didn't blame her now that I'd experienced how hard it was to stop, and to care about anything anymore. Even people who mattered to me couldn't prevent it from happening.

"Katniss, there's a set of vials in my room. They're in the chest of draws near the door, bottom shelf. Can you put them on the next train? I need one of them for a patient."

Her voice registered in my mind, the words being absorbed themselves without any meaning. The familiar numbness I'd thought I'd seen the last of returned, seeping through muscles and bone, from head to toe.

"Yes, of course," I said, although I didn't recognise my voice. My mother didn't seem to notice the change, continuing our conversation and ending it soon after. The dial tone filled my ears after she hung up, the receiver still clutched in my hand. I didn't want to let go. If I let go, I'd have to go upstairs and get the box.

"Katniss? What are you doing?"

As usual, Peeta arrived at the exact moment when I didn't want him to. I needed to hang on to the last moments before setting foot in the room. But Peeta wouldn't let me. He appeared beside me, leaving me for a moment before he gently took the phone from my hands. I let him. I knew I wouldn't be able to let go by myself. But once he placed the receiver down, I turned on my heel and marched away.

"Where are you going?" he asked. I paused. I needed him to leave me. To let me function by myself and not depend on him. I hated that he'd seen me cry, how he'd had to deal with me when he could barely function himself. I'd spent my whole life only having myself to rely on. Why should that change now?

"I need to get something for my mother. From her room."

There was a beat of silence before Peeta asked "Do you need me to come with you."

"No. I'm fine," I said, not allowing him to reply before I climbed the stairs.

#~#~#

I stood outside the door, as if waiting for something to hinder or help me. The more I stared at the door, the further away it seemed to be. The wood was chipped in certain places, worn in others and almost untouched in a few. I reached out, my fingers ghosting over the surface. A thin layer of dust attached itself to them, and I dropped my arm. My fingers burned, the pressure of the door to my mother's room attaching itself to them. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear it. This wasn't my sister's room. My mother was still alive; there was no reason to feel this way about her room. Yet I still did. It was a room I didn't want to set foot into, even though she had asked me herself for a tiny favour.

"I can go in, if you like."

I started, spinning round and gasping in shock. Peeta winced, staying put at the opposite end of the corridor.

"Sorry," he whispered, his voice carrying far despite its quietness. I turned away before answering.

"No, I need to do it." I still didn't move though. The door still seemed far away, but when I reached out again, my fingers met wood almost instantly. My hand froze, and my muscles stuck where they were. I wanted to open the door. I wanted to go in, get this over with and run back out again. But my body wouldn't move. I heard Peeta coming up behind me, his footsteps the only sound. I felt his presence rather than saw him as he moved to stand next to me.

"Are you sure?" he asked, allowing me to back down if I needed to. I nodded, and time seemed to drag while my limbs stayed still. Then, Peeta lifted his arm slowly, moving it closer to me. I watched as he cautiously moved his hand, intertwining our fingers so his hand was curled around the back of mine. I felt him inhale once before he moved our hands forward, placing them on top of the door handle. My fingers moved, and together we curled our hands around it, and pushed.

The door opened without much resistance. The room smelled like my mother. It didn't make sense that it would, considering how long it had been since she'd used it. But it was all my senses could interpret. Her scent, her presence was all over the room, each inconsequential item bringing a slew of memories as my eyes fell upon it. Her brush still on the bedside table, the same one she had used to brush my hair when I was so young. The ratty curtains she'd brought with her from our old home, an action I'd never really understood until now. There were too many memories we could forget without meaning to. Reminders of any kind were essential.

Peeta didn't let go of my hand once the door was open. Instead he twisted it over until he held my hand in his, gently pulling me to stand just inside of the room. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, my breathing echoing around the room. Peeta slowly walked to stand in front of me, taking away the overwhelming sense the room gave me. I stared back at him, at the face of the person I knew so well, looking at something easier than the room.

"Where is it, Katniss?" he asked, keeping eye contact with me as he spoke.

I swallowed loudly. My voice was raspy and shaking as I answered. "Bottom drawer over there." I lifted my arm and pointed to the chest of drawers, but didn't move my eyes from his face. "There should be six small glass bottles in a red metal box," I recited.

Peeta nodded. "Okay. I'm going to go get them, I'll be right back," he said, sensing that this was as far as I'd be able to go.

I nodded mechanically in reply, pushing down the panic I felt when Peeta disappeared from my vision. My body felt frozen as my eyes were automatically assaulted with memory. I closed them, focusing on the noise of Peeta searching for the box over everything else.

"I've got them Katniss," he called, but I didn't move. I didn't know what would happen if I opened my eyes, so I kept them closed. Peeta didn't say anything else after he retrived the box, but I heard his footsteps grow faint as he left the room. My pulse sped up at his retreat, but he didn't go far. My heart continued to race as I heard him approach me again.

"It's okay," he promised as he took my hand in his and moved in front of me once more. Only then did I open my eyes. He smiled, and I felt trapped. I couldn't look away, and I didn't want to move. He smiled as if we were normal people, on a normal day doing something mundane. He smiled as if there was nothing to worry about. He smiled as if we'd never been to the Games. I wished I could smile like that.

"Let's go," he encouraged, taking my hand and leading me out of the room as if I were a child. My hand felt strange in his, too cold and too warm at the same time. Peeta didn't let go of my hand as we left my mother's room, and he shut the door behind him. The finality of the click of the door closing seemed to echo through my head, the sound appearing as lines across my vision. My legs crumpled beneath me as my vision disappeared. I hit the wall hard with my shoulder as I slumped to the side, but felt Peeta right me a moment later.

"I'm fine," I said before he could ask, hating how my voice was more of a gasp than anything else. Peeta didn't say anything, but stood by me, holding me up as the moment of dizziness passed.

"You need to eat something," Peeta announced, and I smiled at his determination that food be the cure for everything.

"Maybe," I answered, closing my eyes then opening them once more to make sure my vision was completely clear.

I pushed myself off the wall slowly, allowing Peeta to stay by my side, steadying me more with his presence than his hand on my shoulder.

"Why don't we go somewhere to eat?" he said suddenly as we made our way towards the stairs.

I laughed, the sound hollow and sharp in the silence.

"There's not exactly any restaurants here anymore."

My words held more bite than I meant them to, and I regretted it when Peeta's face fell completely. He'd done nothing but support me this morning, and I'd just been either a burden or insulting. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't how I should treat him, not after everything.

"Sorry. What did you mean?" I asked, hoping that I hadn't completely ruined whatever his plans were.

Peeta fell silent as we made our way down the stairs, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. The small pressure caused a knee jerk reaction in me. I wanted to shake him off, tell him that I could walk down my stairs. But I didn't, I allowed it, wanted it even. It felt comforting, good to have someone watching over me, caring due to something other than duty. I wasn't sure I liked that feeling. Depending on someone had never appealed before, so why would it now?

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and Peeta released me, a strange, almost cold feeling sweeping up my arm as he did. He stood in front of me and smiled, brightly and brilliantly as if my previous comments had never been uttered.

"Let me show you."

#~#~#

I chewed the last of my bread with a smile on my face, watching the trees move from the rooftop. Being high up felt natural, safer somehow. Even though I'd spent time in trees and off the ground during The Games, up high and overlooking everything still gave me a sense of security and peace. Peeta lay on the rooftop near me, his eyes closed, his face younger than I remembered.

"Catching up on sleep?" I asked as I turned away from the trees.

"No, I couldn't fall asleep up here. I'd be too afraid I'd fall off."

I stared at him in silence, watching as his body twitched and moved of its own accord. He was tired, exhausted even, I could tell from his pose. Yet he was forcing himself away, not even trying to relax.

"Nightmares?" I guessed, knowing the reason for my own troubles in the night.

Peeta opened his eyes at the sound of my voice. Something in his gaze almost made me recoil, it reminding me of his none to friendly greeting at the hospital in Thirteen. I remembered then, how I didn't really know or understand him. I didn't know what he'd been through, and he'd never tried to explain. What happened in between the time in the arena and the rescue mission was a mystery, and I was glad. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to feel what made his eyes take that hue, what made him too afraid to close them. I couldn't add another thing to the list of horrors, but in that moment, I almost asked.

"You can't stay awake though," I said, preventing myself from asking things I wasn't prepared to deal with. "You need to find a way to... get rid of the nightmares I guess."

I knew it was a ridiculous statement. My own sleep was disjointed at best, so I could hardly offer any help or suggestions. It was in this silence that he stated, "I never had nightmares with you."

I knew he didn't. I knew my own dreams only faded away when he was near. I didn't understand what it meant though, and that was frightening. I was scared, and it had taken me until now to admit it. But I needed to sleep. I needed Peeta to sleep too. I needed him to heal and start to try functioning again. I just needed him.

"Then you can stay with me," I stated, not looking at him as I spoke. He was silent in reply, but I felt him hesitantly place his hand over my own. I froze, my heart pounding, not sure if this was a step too far into something I couldn't control or predict. But almost without my consent, my hand turned over slowly, until his fingers curled around mine. It came as a surprise when I realised this was okay. More than okay, it was what I _needed_.


	9. Playing House

**A/N: This was such a long wait, I'm really sorry. I hope that the next chapter won't take as long. Thank you so much for waiting and for continuing to support this story. **

**Sparks has been nominated for a Pearl Award, which I'm very excited about. It's under the category 'fic you confuse with canon.' Thank you so much to everyone who thought of this story, it means a lot to me. **

**Thank you so much to Amanda, Lamia and Rae. They are all amazing friends and fantastic pre-readers that I couldn't do without. **

**Thank you to my lovely beta, Bookgeek80 for all her hard work and for getting this back to me so quickly. **

**I hope you all enjoy reading. **

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**Playing House**

The store room didn't take as long as I thought to clear out. Most of what had been in there belonged to my mother, but after a long conversation, most of it was deemed useless. Most of the medicine we gave to the people in town. Despite observing for so many years, I could only give basic explanations of what they could do, but they were more than happy to accept them. I felt uncomfortable at the gratitude they had for these few bottles. They'd been sitting collecting dust for months now, I should have given them up sooner. The thought just hadn't occurred to me.

I did the same with clothes and furniture, knowing there was no use for so much with only Peeta and I here. I didn't give away the blue dress. I held onto it, putting it away deep in a drawer in my room, hoping Peeta didn't find it. I couldn't explain why I wanted to keep it. Perhaps the thought of seeing someone else in it, a doppelganger of the old me was not something I wanted to deal with. I didn't want to think too deeply about it, so I just shut everything away in the drawer, and moved on.

The store room would now be Peeta's room. We moved a bed from his house into there, and he brought the remainder of his belongings. There wasn't much. Clothes, shoes and some furniture, as well as a box I could tell he didn't really want to explain. I left it alone, knowing it would be some sort of memory. Memories were precious to us. You never knew how long it would be until they abandoned you. I still didn't dare open up Prim's room and only went into my mother's when I had to, so I understood Peeta's need for privacy and space when it came to the contents of the box.

"It looks different."

Peeta's comment hung in the air as we sat on the bed in the almost empty room. I smiled at the blandness of the remark. Talking about nothing felt like everything now.

"It does. Better, I think," I replied honestly. It felt new; a new place signaling a new start. The thought frightened me for a moment, but I pushed the fear away. Things would change even if I buried my head in the sand. It was better to go with it than do nothing.

"I think so too," he agreed, his voice soft but echoing through the room. I jumped as he took my hand in his, but didn't pull away. It was hard to understand what was going on between us. We'd spent so much time pretending to be a couple. Kissing, holding hands, touching, an imagined marriage, and pregnancy. But there were always scripts and cameras, someone to tell me when I didn't look in love or didn't smile enough. There were exceptions of course, on the beach and after I found out about Peeta's leg. But they seemed so unfamiliar, at times I wondered if they happened at all. I couldn't remember simple facts, it wasn't a giant leap to believe I could create something out of nothing. If that were true though, then I'd wanted something real from Peeta enough to imagine it. Or was it just we'd been pushed together so much that I'd began to believe it was what I wanted?

These thoughts made my head hurt as I analysed every detail in my mind. It also made me drop Peeta's hand every time.

Peeta didn't say anything at my action, he just smiled and stood up, moving over to the corner of the room and rearranging his few belongings. I fell back onto the bed in frustration. Why couldn't everything just be simple?

#~#~#

They wanted to hold a memorial service. Haymitch explained the plans to us as we sat watching the geese run around. Peeta glanced at them every few minutes, keeping an eye on all of them. I didn't think he liked them. The idea of him being afraid of geese made me smile.

"It will be broadcast over all the Districts in memory of all those who died in both the Games and the rebellion. Long list of names there," Haymitch noted, his voice scathing.

"When?" I asked as Peeta glared at a goose who was wandering slightly to close to his chair.

"A month, I believe. It's still in the planning stages, but they don't want to leave it too long. They're trying to finish the memorial site before then so they can make a proper show of it all." Haymitch paused and took a sip of his latest alcoholic concoction.

"They want us on it."

I felt myself tense up and saw Peeta's face twist before it turned blank again. His leg started bouncing just as he masked his expression, and it took all my willpower not to scream.

"What do you mean?" I wondered, surprised at how even my voice sounded.

Haymitch eyed us both for a moment. "They want the three of us to head the memorial from Twelve. Say a few speeches, mention those we've lost, show the faces of the survivors. You didn't expect them to leave us alone completely, did you?"

I couldn't say yes, because really I knew this wouldn't be the end. The rebellion might be over, but I was still the Mockingjay. I turned to look at Peeta, his leg still jumping. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Can we refuse?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Haymitch grinned. "They won't force you, but I think they're pretty keen to at least show your lovely young faces up on the screen."

I reached out and grabbed Peeta's leg, thankful that he stopped twitching the moment I touched him. I then leaned back and away from both him and Haymitch, watching the geese as they chased and pecked at the rough ground.

#~#~#

Peeta was quiet for the rest of the day and all of the evening. He went to bed early, the door closed but the light still on. I stood outside in the dark hallway, poised and ready to knock. In the end, I turned away and went to the shadows of my own room. I listened as I lay in bed, hearing the sound of him pacing for hours before the house went silent. It was comforting having him close to me. I didn't realise how empty the house had been before he'd come to live here. We'd made it known in town that Peeta's house was now free, but so far no one had moved in. Thinking about it, I probably wouldn't have moved in either. It was too much of a reminder of what came before. I turned over and buried my head in the pillow as soon as the house fell silent. With nothing left to do but sleep, I lay still willing my body to relax and hoped Peeta's mood improved in the morning.

Except it didn't. Still silent, he wandered through the house like a ghost, eating a little but otherwise not acting as if he were human. It was distracting and caused my memory to flash back to a place it didn't want to, so I ended up sitting by the primrose garden with the plant book. Buttercup sat on my lap, protesting with her claws each time I tried to shift my position. I stared at the pages, murmuring the words under my breath for a while. I looked up once for no apparent reason and my eyes zoomed in on a plant growing a few feet away. It sprung up out of the grass, thick long leaves emerging from the stem, and a small bud at the top. I didn't recognise it. Puzzled, I flicked through the book, trying to find a picture or description the matched it. Nothing came to me.

I frowned and glared at the plant, annoyed at it for no reason. Of course, after all that had happened within the last few months, nature had been incredibly disturbed. There were probably new species of plants and animals all over the District that I'd never seen before. For some reason though, it irritated me.

"Katniss!"

I looked up to see Peeta running towards me. I tried to jump to my feet, cursing when Buttercup prevented this by clinging onto my legs as he tried to keep his place. I stumbled to my feet, glowering at the cat as Peeta slowed to a halt in front of me.

"What's the matter?" I asked, feeling slightly panicked at the way he'd approached.

He was breathing heavily as he stopped, his feet bare and stained with dirt from running across the grass. He caught his breath and looked up, his eyes wild and unfocused. I instinctively took a step backward, then stopped as I realised what I'd done. I hated how I still wasn't completely comfortable with him when his behavior reminded me of the rebellion. The time when I'd pointed an arrow to his head...

"I... I'm having trouble remembering something. Well, I just... I think I remember but they don't connect. Something isn't real but I don't know what it is. It's..." he trailed off, his gaze moving away from mine, but I knew what he wanted to say. He was afraid. Afraid of being in his own head because of what it might make him see or do. I understood. I reached out and took his hand, trying to drag him out of that space and back with me where at least he wasn't alone with his thoughts.

"Sit," I requested simply, letting go and sitting back down on the grass. Buttercup returned, pointedly digging his claws into his legs as I sat down. Peeta smiled as I winced and pointed at the plant book.

"Were you adding something to it?"

I shook my head. "No, just reading. Although, I did see something that isn't in the book. The plant behind you," I said, gesturing to the weed that had caught my attention. Peeta turned and stared at it for a moment, taking it in.

"You should make a record of it. You don't know how long it's going to be around. You should copy it down before is disappears. Or before we forget what we saw."

I'm not sure whether it was his voice or his words, but something about his statement struck me deeply. I put it aside for now, deciding to think about it later. Right now, I needed to help Peeta remember.

"Okay. What did you want to ask?"

He closed his eyes and inhaled, and I waited to see what he thought was real.

#~#~#

It was green in the clearing. So green and bright that I knew if I looked up to the sky my skin would surely burn. I didn't dare move, just sat with the heavy book in my lap, my legs stretched out in the grass. The blades were long and perfect, each one sharpened to a point. They were so sharp it hurt to move, the overly green grass pricking and slicing at my bare skin. My dress was red, the material the only cool feeling on my arms. The sleeves were long and hung over my hands, disappearing over the edge of where my fingertips should be.

I looked down at the book, four times the size of what a normal book should be. The double page it opened to filled with tiny symbols and signs, a language I couldn't understand. The lines rippled, changed before my eyes. Snatches I recognised disappeared only to be replaced by incomprehensible markings. The writing was fluid, but nothing on the pages stayed for more than a few seconds.

"Katniss? What's this?"

My father held up an elaborate branch of vine and flowers, colours shimmering and fading as I looked. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't remember how to make letters into words, let alone how to answer.

"Katniss?"

Before my eyes, the branch started to smoke, a flicker of flame starting at the top and slowly spreading down. Flowers died in the fire's wake, the disintegrated, burnt and there one minute, then ashes flying away the next. The fire spread rapidly, but my father did not seem to notice. He didn't let go, and I stared in frozen horror as the fire slowly worked its way towards his fingers.

"Katniss?" he asked in the same measured tone as the fire reached his fingers.

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. I moved my legs, only to be sliced by a thousand needles, the pain so intense I couldn't move any further.

So instead, I watched my father burn, his mouth saying the syllables of my name until it turned to ash.

#~#~#

I woke up to my throat burning as if the fire had been inside of me all along. The room, although dark, seemed to have a yellow tinge and felt smaller, so small I could barely breathe. My eyes were streaming, my head pounding as I struggled out of the sheets and sat up.

"Katniss."

My name in the dark caused me to scream, a high, cracked sound that bounced off the walls. My eyes frantically searched the room, knowing I would see the figure of my father turned to ash. Except I didn't. I saw Peeta, framed by the light in the hall standing in the doorway.

"It's just me," he whispered, as if reading my mind. I opened my mouth to speak, but just like the dream, I couldn't make myself speak. I started to shake, the walls of the room closing in on me, and my body falling away.

Peeta came to my side immediately, uttering soft words and making soothing sounds that didn't quite reach me. It didn't matter though. What mattered was his touch, his hands guiding me back to bed and chasing away the remnants of the dream. I gripped his hand once and didn't let go, holding onto the only thing keeping me grounded. I was still shaking and holding onto him, when Peeta lay down beside me, continuing to say soothing words of nothingness while I drifted off to sleep in his arms. The last thing I remembered was feeling of his lips pressing once carefully to my temple. But it could have just been a memory.


	10. Coping Methods

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and support for the last chapter. I really appreciate it. **

**Thank you to Amanda, Lamia and Rae. Thank you for still reading my ramblings, I love you all. **

**Thank you to my wonderful beta, Bookgeek80 for all her hard work. **

**Voting has begun for the Pearl Awards. Please go and support the fantastic authors and stories that have been nominated: ****http:/www(dot)kwiksurveys(dot)com/online-survey(dot)php?surveyID=ILLOFO_eed2d6b5**

**I hope you all enjoy reading! **

* * *

**Coping Methods**

District 12 didn't have an appropriate place to hold a meeting. There were barely any landmarks anymore, just the memorial site which was currently under construction. To me, it seemed ridiculous to start building the site when they hadn't even started construction in town yet. I'd mentioned it to Haymitch on one of our visit a few weeks after they began. His face had turned a deep shade of purple, and he'd left Peeta and I alone outside for almost an hour. He returned sweating, his voice hoarse from use. The next day, supplies arrived from the Capitol, and we began to rebuild.

That was two weeks ago. Right now, construction was going well, but unfortunately it meant our meeting with Plutarch had to happen at my house. Peeta's was still abandoned, and he seemed to resent any talk of going back there. Haymitch said he wouldn't let anyone into his house from the Capitol, even if it was someone he knew. I was left with little choice but to invite them to my house.

"You're looking well, Katniss," Plutarch complimented with a wide smile and hopeful eyes upon entering. I nodded, looking away and leading them in without a word, gesturing for them to follow. He was happy to chat at me as I walked; a young woman in a perfectly straight suit followed, a notebook and pen in hand. They seemed out of place in their finery while the three of us sat down before them.

I zoned out within a few minutes, their words barely even reaching me. I managed to nod on occasion when they looked my way, feigning interest in their idea. I knew Haymitch and Peeta would pay attention, and I suddenly felt so tired. Tired of listen and acting when all I wanted to do was...

I sat up when I realised I didn't have an answer.

"Katniss? Was there something you wanted to add?"

With all their eyes on me I felt cornered and lost, my body going strangely weightless. I shook my head, and after a moment, their eyes turned away. All except Peeta's who stayed on me for the rest of the meeting.

#~#~#

"You didn't listen to a word of that, did you? You should know better than that."

Peeta smiled to himself as I stared less than amused at Haymitch. He glared back at me.

"Are you giving me life lessons?" I asked aware of the humour as it crept into my voice. The situation was oddly funny, even though I couldn't work out why. The room seemed to be filled with a strange, electric air. I felt light and empty, and worried if I opened my mouth again I'd either laugh or cry.

"May as well try and give you some sort of wisdom before it's too late."

Peeta laughed, but it sounded too high and foreign to my ears. The room was wrong, so I walked out into the hallway and left, walking aimlessly into the front garden. The air felt better than I could have imagined on my skin. The world seemed to expand again, the veil of fog that had been cast over my mind since the afternoon disintegrating in the afternoon sunshine. It was bright, and warm and comfortingl. I smiled, and turned to my left, walking around the house.

As I came closer to the house, I noticed the flowers. A strange ringing noise filled my ears, a high-pitched keening which broke off abruptly and turned into silence as I stared at the dead primroses. I suddenly found myself crawling towards them, even though I had no memory of falling. I shuffled closer, my hands closing around dirty and crumbled petals. My whole arm shook, petals falling from my hands and back into the ground.

"No. Not all dead. Not all," I muttered, sitting up and reaching out into the middle of the patch. I sunk my hands into the soil and began to dig, tearing at the dirt. There had to be something there, a small patch of life amongst the decay. But there was nothing. I continued to dig, moving further and further into the flower bed, knowing that had to be something in there, something that would keep her here with me. My eyes watered and then ran trails down my face, so I swiped with my hand. My movements fell into a rhythm. Dig, claw, search, swipe, dig, claw, search, swipe. I continued until I'd made my way through every inch of the flower bed. I couldn't find anything. I gave up and slid into the ground, closing my eyes and pushing my hands in as far as they would go. Maybe I'd find something buried deeply underneath, if I could only just reach it.

#~#~#

When I awoke, it was a dark and warm, and for a moment, I really thought I'd buried myself. I threw my hands out in front of me and gasped for air, shocked when I met no resistance and could breathe freely. My heart still continued to race as a lamp turned on to my left. I blinked and turned towards the light. I was in my room, in bed with the covers pulled tightly around me. Peeta sat in a dining room chair next to the bed, blinking sleepily with his hand falling away from the lamp switch. His hair was flat on one side and messy on the other. He looked young for the first time.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, leaning forward, gazing at me intently. I sat up slowly, wincing as my knees hit the blankets.

"What happened?" I questioned in return, as I pulled back the covers. My knees were scraped and bloody, but the wounds were clean. I noticed dirt trapped under my nails, and small scratches on my knuckles. I remembered the flowers just as Peeta started to speak.

"I found you in the garden. You were in the primrose patch, lying completely still. I thought... I think you fainted."

"They're dead." My voice sounded as empty and devoid as the flowers looked,the words escaping and drifting like petals on a wind.

Peeta got up from the chair and moved to the bed. I moved towards the pillow, crossing my legs underneath me so he could sit down. He took my hand, gently, running his thumbs over the cuts on my knuckles. I tried not to shy away from his touch, even though it hurt. I didn't understand why the pain was so intense. I'd been hurt far worse than this before, but these tiny cuts and bruises seemed to ache incessantly.

"Yes, they are. But more will grow, and we can replant them. I promise."

So simple. We could start over, re-grow and it would be as good as new, even if it wasn't the same. They were just flowers Peeta found in the woods after all. But there was something unsettling and wrong about his words, causing me to drop his hand.

"I think I need to sleep," I told him, not even sure why I said it.

Peeta got up without a word as I slipped back down underneath the covers. I turned onto my side and faced the wall, just waiting for the click of the light switch. At the last moment, something flipped inside of me and I asked,

"Will you stay?"

Silence filled the room in reply, and for a moment I thought he'd already left.

"For as long as you need."

I didn't turn as Peeta walked back to the chair and sat down. Within a few moment, darkness fell again and the room filled with quiet once more. It took me a long time to get back to sleep.

#~#~#

Peeta had been gone for most of the afternoon. The morning had felt awkward, he had looked exhausted and reluctant to be up and moving. Although he hadn't been in my room when I'd woken up, I could guess he had barely slept. I had avoided him, cowardly as it may have been. I'd asked him to stay, even though I knew he found it hard to sleep. I could say I hadn't been thinking clearly, and although it was true, I knew my selfishness hurt him. My stomach twisted painfully at the thought of hurting Peeta. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. A little sleep wouldn't kill him, not now. I wasn't damaging him, he could rest later.

Then why did it hurt so much?

I wandered around the house, hesitant to go outside. I avoided the only locked door in the house, although its presence seemed to loom over my every movement. With the flowers gone, my sister's presence seemed stronger than ever; blaming, pressuring, screaming. I dug my nails into my palms and ran into the nearest room, shutting the door behind me and sliding to the ground. My momentary relief Peeta wasn't home to see me acting this way vanished when I realised I was in his room.

"Damn," I muttered to myself, standing up slowly. Although I knew I needed to go, a strange sense of calm had settled on me since leaving the hallway. The thought of returning wasn't appealing.

The room was in a very similar state to when we finished redecorating, yet completely different. It was Peeta's now, distinctively and completely his, even though he had barely changed it. Now there were a few trinkets I'd never seen before, and the box open by the bed. I stood up and walked forward a few paces as I noticed an object sprawled out on the bed. The guilty feeling I'd had about being in his room moved to the back of my mind as curiosity took over.

As I approached, my eyes widened in surprise. Sketches covered the top of the bed, most half finished, and all fantastically life-like. It had been so long since I'd seen Peeta's drawings I'd forgotten how talented he was. Images of the past snapped into my mind as I reached out and touched the paper. The images crafted onto the probably too thin and poor quality paper were nothing short of brilliant.

I picked each one up slowly, careful to only touch the edges. The pictures were only shades of grey and black, no colour to be seen at all. I wondered if was done due to the lack of materials or for another reason. I saw before me the ruins of Twelve, the empty sky over the woods, the bakery that had once been his home, and buttercup sleeping. They ranged between hopeful and devastating, the past and the present, with the future a gaping hole unfilled. A part of me expected to see tortured figures and dark images from the time he'd been taken by Snow. But there were none, just fragments from long ago, people and places from before the rebellion. His family were also missing from the pictures, and with a jolt I realised there was nothing in Peeta's life that represented his family. I supposed I couldn't judge though, as infrequent phone conversations and a locked room were all I had now. That and...

"The flowers," I whispered, pulling forward a sheet of paper depicted the primrose patch as it had been in all its glory. I wanted to smile and cry at the snapshot of memory, my emotions pulling at me two ways at once so violently I was sure I'd been ripped in half, until a voice shocked me back to reality.

"I drew it last night while you were sleeping. Not my best, but I was doing it from memory."

I turned slowly to him, the picture still in my shaking hand. Peeta stood leaning against the doorway, his face unreadable and his posture calm. I wanted to apologise. I wanted to apologise for losing control, for having no idea how to even stay in control anymore. For being in his room and going through his things because it was the only thing keeping me sane today. For not being able to stop his nightmares, and for having my own too. For keeping him from sleeping and for being part of the reason he couldn't sleep in the first place. For the family that were dead and gone, and the memories he had to live with. For the rebellion, for the torture, for the games. For everything.

But instead, different words escaped. "It's amazing."

He smiled, and I did too, for no reason other than he did it first. He walked into the room and took the picture out of my hands, setting it back on the bed.

"It's easier to draw from memory than what's around. Even if it isn't real, it fe_els_real and it feels... better when it's out on paper."

"You're lucky," I muttered, wondering if my voice carried. If it did, he didn't say anything.

"Why aren't they in colour?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the sketches and resting them back on to his face. He shrugged.

"It was all I had at home. I didn't think asking for drawing supplies was really appropriate at the moment."

"Why not?" I asked, my voice startling the two of us. We both jumped back, space breaking up whatever connection we'd had a moment before.

I turned back to the pictures, trying to ignore the frantic burst of emotion threatening to take over. I tried to keep calm as I spoke. "You said it helps. Why shouldn't you ask for something that helps you? So it may not be medicine or something others will necessarily understand, but if it works for you then..."

I was cut off when without warning; Peeta wrapped his arms around me and dragged me forward into him. Shocked, I inhaled sharply, realising I hadn't taken a breath since I started speaking. I froze, willing my body to relax in his hold, and after a moment, it did. I closed my eyes and said nothing, my mind blissfully blank with his arms around me. I could pretend everything was easily, that nothing could take away this feeling.

After a moment though, he pulled away, and we were back in to our usual roles.

"I'll ask next time," he assured me, as if I'd never lost control. And that was the end of it.

#~#~#

Peeta fell asleep before nine, the television remote gripped tightly in his hand. I turned it off at the set, completely uninterested in the background noise. Peeta murmured something and his head dropped to the side, but otherwise he remained still. I watched him for a moment before leaving the room and going up the stairs. Not wanting to wake him, I was going to grab the cover off his bed. I paused by the door to his room, noticing a few blank sheets of paper on his desk. I paused for a moment, then reached out and took one with my free hand. Heading downstairs, I placed the paper on the table and carefully arranged the covers over Peeta.I took my time making sure all of him was covered and tried not to disturb him in the process. As soon as I was done, his arm shot out towards me. I stumbled back, my heart rate climbing, but he simply pulled the covers tighter around him, and slept on. I rolled my eyes at my own skittishness, and walked back to him, absently brushing his hair away from his face. I pulled my hand away as I realised what I'd done, turned abruptly and picked up the paper.

I settled myself down in the chair furthest away from Peeta and picked up a pen. I glanced at him once more, and then turned my eyes towards the window. Despite the darkness outside, I could still somehow see the gaps where the town should be, the hints of regeneration. I twisted the pen in my hand open, looked down and began to write.


	11. Remembrance

**A/N: It's been a long wait for this chapter, longer than I expected. I'm sorry about that. At the moment, my dissertation is taking priority so updates will be slower than usual. Eight weeks and counting until I'm all done and have more time to spend on this! Thank you all so much for the support and for waiting. **

**Thank you to the wonderful Rae for pre-reading, and my lovely beta, Bookgeek80.**

**Hope you enjoy. **

* * *

**Remembrance**

I started by writing anything. What I saw in that moment, what I wished I was seeing instead, and what I thought I might see in the future. I wrote down every thought that crossed my mind as soon as the pen touched the paper. Sometimes it was coherent, parts of sentences that flowed and matched together, partnering up to make a whole. Other times, I wrote fragments, words without meaning or context, sometimes ideas that began but had no ending. I just started to write, and it helped. Feeling was easier when I could write it down. I could write 'sorrow,' 'anger,' and 'pain' and they would have meaning. They could be identified and dealt with as words. I tried to draw like Peeta did, capturing something in lead and paper. But my attempts were just scribbles that didn't resemble anything at all. I quickly gave up and returned to my writing.

Whenever I had a nightmare, I would write it down. I'd go back to sleep, sometimes half way through writing, and wake up to horrors on a page. Things that I didn't always remember were written before me upon waking. I burnt the papers. It felt as if I were cleansing the thoughts, removing the bad dreams. It didn't work though. The nightmares still came, night after night. But it felt as if I were doing something constructive. The fact that my nightmares never touched me when I slept next to Peeta wasn't something I dwelt on. This felt healthier.

The doctor was the first person I told about the writing. I think the idea stunned him at first. I had to admit, it stunned me too. I hadn't ever imagined I'd actually try to live. I'd spent so long surviving minute by minute, day by day. In that prison cell, I'd concocted so many ways to die that sometimes I woke up and couldn't believe I was still breathing. I didn't know to live. That's what they'd been trying to teach me in the months after the rebellion ended. I was just a body, breathing and functioning as best I could, but that didn't mean I was alive. I wondered now if I ever had been. I still wasn't now, but realising this meant something, meant there was a possibility I could be alive again. This was why the doctor was so excited about my writing. It apparently didn't matter whether I was composing pages of past events or just a few words that seemed important. It was something. The doctor offered to send more paper and writing materials, even going as far as art supplies for Peeta. I didn't object. It became my obsession, my escape. I didn't feel right or normal if I didn't have something to write with near me.

At first, I wanted the writing to be mine and mine alone. The doctor was a voice on the end of a device, a face I could barely remember. I didn't want Peeta, Haymitch or my mother to know. I couldn't explain why this was important to me. I'd seen Peeta's drawings, watched Haymitch immerse himself in drink and caring for his geese. Yet eventually, my obsession became too obvious and I could almost feel the questioning glances following me. So I started writing in the dark, or when no one was around. It was safe and something only I had. I needed it. I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to tell someone, but for now, it was just me and my words.

#~#~#

It was a clear day on the morning of the memorial service. I glared at the sky, willing it to darken before my eyes. The sun only blazed in reply, my dark clothes absorbing every ray. I gave up and stared at the sky line instead, my eyes refusing to move down to where people were gathering.

"Are you ready?"

I turned to Peeta, his eyes searching my face and looking no further. We were twins in dark formal clothes, costumes that had been provided for us. The sleeves of my dress reached to my finger nails. Peeta's pant legs dragged along the floor.

"No," I replied, but I walked past him and began to walk to the memorial site. Peeta fell into step beside me, neither of us attempting to speak. We were half way there when his hand knocked against mine. I wasn't sure if it was an accident or a method of comfort, but the contact sent sparks of shock through my arm. My fingers twitched towards his, hovering of their own accord. We walked like that all the way to the memorial, our fingers ghosting together but neverquite meeting.

As we approached the site, my fingers closed around Peeta's, the gap between our bodies closing. The previously barren area held a large structure, a strange metal pattern which curled upwards towards the sky. Inscribed upon it were dates and names, going back to the start of the games, and ending at the rebellion. Too many names to count.

A makeshift stage had been assembled before the memorial, cameras and equipment lining up before it. I felt Peeta stiffen beside me, so I stopped and turned to my right. His eyes closed as his hands shook at his sides. His face drained of colour before my eyes, and I knew without a doubt he was back somewhere in the past.

"Peeta," I hissed, pulling on his arm and gripping his hand tightly. When he didn't respond, I moved to stand in front of him, and gripped his shoulders.

"Peeta, look at me," I demanded, my voice low and my face close to his. I worried for a moment I'd have to shake him. Thankfully, I didn't have to resort to physical force. He struggled to open his eyes, but eventually they opened to meet mine. I tried not to think about what I saw there.

"This, here and now with me, is real. Stay with me. Please," I pleaded, my voice cracking as I reached the end of the sentence.

Peeta inhaled slowly, his chest heaving with the effort and his eyes closing and opening once.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

I wasn't sure if he was reassuring me or himself, but it worked on both of us. I managed to smile despite everything, and hand in hand, we made our way towards the platform.

#~#~#

I kept my eyes and my head down. They decided it would be better if I embodied the demure and silent symbol of the rebellion. Peeta remained the voice, as he always had been. Of course, his speech had been written for him. They couldn't risk any alterations to the programme, any inclination we were anything other than fine. We could grieve, and we could feel pain. We could not have flashbacks and appear unstable.

I tried to listen to the speeches, and to the video messages that flooded in. All of the other previous Districts were mourning on separate days. Today they paid tribute to us. I feared that if I looked up, I'd see a face I recognised or miss a face I wished to see. So I looked down, and tried not to drift away.

The names rang out over the heavy air. I listened to them all, sepia images floating into my mind half remembered until they reached my time in The Games. Flashes of lives half lived, or chaos and fire surrounded me, my head ached as the sun continued to rise. My hands clenched the side of my chair, my muscles locked and ready. I waited, silently and in anticipation. And waited. And waited.

"Primrose Everdeen. Rescue medic, died in the line of duty."

Until it came. The syllables and sounds that were everything and empty letters all at once. I strung the words together in my mind. It didn't work. It wasn't enough, and it wasn't right. But by now they were three names down, more faces I probably knew, more ghosts ready to haunt.

#~#~#

We were quiet when we returned to the house. Peeta shrugged his jacket off onto the couch, and made his way upstairs without a word. I understood. I didn't feel like being with anyone else for the moment, even him. But a faint voice in the back of my mind wished he'd said something before leaving.

I sat at the kitchen table, slumped in a chair. I knew I should try and eat something, but I couldn't face moving. I looked up, and noticed a piece of paper and pen lying untouched on the table. I reached out to them before I could even register my actions. I hesitated before taking the pen and curling my fingers over the plastic and drawing the paper towards me.

I sat with the pen just above the paper, so close that only light could pass through the gap in between. My hand shook, unmoving as I tried to calm myself. I didn't have to do this. I could put the pen down, fold up the piece of paper and try again another day. Yet I knew if I stopped now, the urge to try wouldn't happen again. I had to do this now. In a forceful movement, the pen hit the page, ink spreading quickly before I had a chance to stop it.

I grimaced at the stain, moving my pen to the opposite side of the paper. I needed to gain control. I could do this, and I would do this. I inhaled, my chest rattling with the effort. I wanted to cry, scream, or run, but instead I pressed the pen to the paper lightly. Adding a little more pressure, I guided it upwards, straight and then looping round before returning. My wrist flicked and the pen moved to make a new solitary line with a controlled ink stain above. I continued the line upwards, then around and down before stopping. My hand ached, my muscles straining as I placed the pen back on the page to the right of the first letter so I could begin the second. It felt like it took hours. My hand and mind remembered the letters perfectly, had written them over and over in different combinations during the past few weeks. But these letters didn't seem to want to be in this order, so I forced them into it with my hand. Once I was done, I stepped back and away from the page, convinced if I stayed close I'd obliterate it with black lines.

PRIMROSE EVERDEEN

My sister's name stood out as if written in lights rather than shaky black ink. At first, I felt proud. I'd been able to write the name I'd yet to say out loud since her death in the Capitol. Yet this quickly faded, and was replaced with nausea. The black print felt like a desecration, and I had no right to be the one carving her name into paper. I backed out of the room slowly, as if away from a wild animal until the letters became a blur of black before my eyes. Before I could even realise, I turned and ran, making it to the bathroom before I vomited.

#~#~#

I went to bed early after the bathroom incident. Peeta came to check on me after a few hours, and I admitted to feeling ill.

"What do you need?" he asked me, sitting down on the edge of the bed and checking my temperature with the back of his hand. The truth was I had no idea what I needed, but all I really wanted was to sleep without nightmares. Peaceful sleep for both of us. I needed these memories, these ghosts to let us sleep. But tonight I couldn't face asking him for that.

"Water would be good. Thank you."

He would have stayed if I'd asked, and I knew that. And if he asked me to stay, I would have done so too. But I don't think he knew it. I felt for him, I always had, but the feeling was still beyond me. One day, maybe I'd be able to write about the emotion and understand what it meant. But in this moment, there was too much to sort through first before I could reach that one.

My sleep was disturbed, but by the time I opened my eyes to daylight, I couldn't remember the dreams. I stumbled around in a haze, managing to get through the first hour without really noticing anything. Only after I'd been awake for a while, did my eyes seem to be drawn back to the paper I'd left alone the previous day. The sheet was in the same place, only I'd initially not noticed it because something felt different. I approached the table in confusion, not sure if it was actually the same paper where I'd written Prim's name. It was though. Except during the night, Peeta had drawn the most life-like primrose I'd ever seen using the ink stain I'd made, and curling it around the letters. The image was beautiful, delicate but strong and unyielding. Just as she had been.


	12. Control and Memory

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the responses to the last chapter, and for waiting patiently for this one. Now that I've finished my post grad course, I will be able to spend more time writing. **

**Thank you to my lovely beta, Bookgeek80. She edited this in record time, and I am very grateful for all her help. **

**Hope you enjoy! **

* * *

**Control and Memory**

"How long do you stay out here for?" I asked Peeta as he sketched. We'd been outside for just over half an hour, and the silence and stillness was already getting to me. I wanted to move, to do something productive now that I was out here. My hunting instincts were going into overdrive, my eyes picking out the few victims I was aware of. Peeta didn't seem to have noticed my twitching as I sat with my back against a tree.

"As long as I need to," he replied, not looking up. I sighed, closing my eyes as I let my head fall back against the tree.

"I told you to bring a book." I opened my eyes to see him smiling at me, a half finished but already stunning drawing on his lap.

I ignored his comment and smug look and stood, stretching as I did.

"I'll be here," Peeta said, looking back down at his drawing, his interest fading away from me instantly. I halted in my step, not sure if I should stay or leave. It had been his idea to ask me to go with him, and I'd wanted to. I wanted to see him draw, understand what he did. But I just couldn't cope with the silence.

I walked quietly, without paying attention to where I stepped. My feet knew these woods as well I did, there was nowhere unfamiliar to me. Although my eyes scanned the trees and long grasses automatically looking for creatures, I had no desire to hunt. It was an odd feeling. Hunting was all that I knew, one of the few talents I had. It had kept me alive, and relatively sane. Instead, I just walked, wandered through for a while, my mind blank. Eventually, my feet began to ache, and they took me back in a circle to Peeta.

I stopped short of where we'd been sitting, my eyes zoning in on where I'd expected to see him. Instead his body was crouched over, slumped in an unnatural angle. I was running before my mind had caught up, blood pounding in my ears, my mouth moving without sound.

_Please please please please..._

"Peeta!" I cried, slamming my body into his as I reached him. He jerked on impact, and the two of us tipped over onto the grass, me landing awkwardly on my right elbow, but somehow still on top of him.

His eyes were unfocused and bleary, but obviously tainted with fear.

"What is it, what's wrong?" his voice was low, as if waiting for something to pounce. It was only then that I regained my sense, and stood shakily.

He'd fallen asleep. That was all. Not dead, not hurt, not dying. My heart slowed and I turned away from him, embarrassment emerging out of my panic.

"Katniss?"

I turned and realised I'd not explained my actions. I swallowed, regarding Peeta, who was still frozen in fear and confusion.

"Sorry," I answered, standing up, and brushing myself down. Peeta slowly unfroze, and stood alongside me.

"What happened?"

He reached out and took my hand as he spoke, offering comfort even though I'd probably scared him. Peeta still wasn't good with shocks and unexpected movements. He panicked, sometimes reacted too quickly. It had probably taken a huge amount of restraint for him to stay as still as he had been. I squeezed his hand once, revelling in the warmth and comfort he was offering. I dropped his hand though, knowing I needed to concentrate- something I found hard to do with him touching me.

I opened my mouth, part of me wanting to explain. The problem was, that even if I could admit that it was out of fear that he had been killed while I was away, I couldn't explain why I'd felt that way. I knew the difference between sleeping and a dead body, even from a greater distance than I'd been at. I couldn't understand it myself let alone explain to Peeta what had happened. So I shook my head.

"I made a mistake. It's nothing. Sorry I woke you."

"It's... it's fine. Maybe we should go back," Peeta said as he began to collect his belongings. I closed my eyes in frustration for a moment, feeling stupid and guilty for making him leave. But I couldn't force myself to say anything. All I could do was fall into step beside him, and try not see dead things.

#~#~#

"I thought he was dead. It was more than that though... I felt he was dead. And I couldn't see past it, couldn't take a moment to actually think and make sure I knew what was happening." I sat on the floor, the phone resting on my shoulder as I spoke to the doctor.

"Do you usually need a moment?"

I paused. "No. I always know. I'm always right, it's instinct. My instinct has never failed before, so I was _sure_... sure he was dead."

The doctor was silent as I mulled through what I'd just said. I'd been wrong. Completely wrong, even though I knew at the time I was right.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

"Why?"

"I should have known... should have realised but I didn't. That's never happened before."

"Are you scared because you lost control of the situation, or because you weren't sure  
if what you were seeing was right?"

I tried to think of an answer.

"Both? The only thing I've ever been able to control is myself, and what I see. But I lost control and misunderstood."

_Which is exactly what happened to Peeta. _

The thought struck me without warning, and remained with me throughout the conversation. For the first time, I actually understood a little of what it must feel like to be him. More importantly, I understood how my reactions to him since his memory had been affected must have felt. And that struck me more than my fear of losing control.

#~#~#

Focus was something that I'd always had. My focus was absolute, reliable, and helped the three of us survive when my mother couldn't cope. I'd always though it was a positive attribute, something I could almost be proud of possessing. But now, I wasn't so sure. My field of vision had always been narrow, never really bringing someone else into the picture unless it was necessary  
to my focus. It was how I'd hurt Peeta, and Gale. And now I was beginning to see that. A single minded focus when fighting for survival was essential. When not, it transformed into isolation and selfishness. Or at least that's how it now seemed to me.

I sat on the roof, writing down as much as I could remember of what had happened today. It seemed to important to understand how I'd felt and what I'd done. I didn't want to wake up days from now and act as if it had never happened.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I smiled, not looking up as Peeta sat beside me.

"Why is that?"

"You always go to high ground when something's bothering you."

This was true, and I smiled, finishing off my last sentence with a scratch of my pen. I looked up, and he smiled, his hair whipping into his eyes. It was almost as long as my own. I looked down, the distance between the ground and where we were seemed further in the dark. I sighed, and carefully handed the paper to Peeta. I felt him stiffen next to me.

"What's this?" he asked. I understood his confusion, my written had been my most treasured secret up until now.

"Just read it," I replied, deciding it would be easier to explain afterward.

Peeta obliged without another word, silence falling between us. I focused on the sights I could still see in the shadows. The memorial; the focal point of everything that could be seen for miles. The forest, the shadows of the trees and the dark that swallowed all else. I listened as Peeta's fingers crinkled the paper as he held it, and I could almost hear the words coming off the page and into his mind.

The sound of paper being put down jolted me from my thoughts. I couldn't quite bring myself to look at him.

I felt him move closer, edge his body toward mine before he spoke.

"It's an easy mistake to make, Katniss. I know it's you, and you're usually so right about these things. But it happens. It's okay that it happens. You should have said something."

I exhaled, feeling something inside me snap at the simple answer. It was okay. It happened. That was how Peeta saw it, and on some level, exactly what I needed and wanted to know. That it was okay. I needed to know I could make a mistake, such a small error, and nothing would happen. Someone wouldn't die, and it didn't matter anymore. Not everything was balanced on me having complete control. It was terrifying, wonderful, and confusing. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be sick or celebrate.

Instead, I leaned to my right, resting my head on Peeta's shoulder. He made a jerking movement, obviously not expecting my reaction. But he curled his arm around me automatically, which wasn't quite comforting, but not quite frightening either.

We stayed like that for a while, until our limbs went numb and I felt as if I'd become part of the house itself. Peeta was the first to move, guiding me upwards when my legs folded, and holding my hand as we made our way back into the warmth. I twisted my body, attempting to force my legs to behave once more.

"Why do you write?" he asked, passing me a steaming mug that I didn't ask for. I took it gratefully.

"Why do you draw?"

He smiled, but didn't answer the question. Deflection obviously wasn't going to work tonight.

I sighed heavily, slumping down into an armchair, wishing it would take me somewhere I was comfortable. I knew this conversation had to happened, but it didn't mean I liked it.  
"I don't want to forget anything. It's easier to write it down than anything else. I don't think that I can afford to forget anything, not after what's happened. Not after what we've seen."

Peeta didn't say anything, and I looked away, feeling the urge to get up and leave the room. I looked everywhere but his face until my eyes refocused back on him once more. As I did, he smiled, a small but encouraging expression that was both devastatingly sad and hopeful in the same moment.

"We spent years reading about The Games," he began quietly, his words not what I expected to hear. "We read false histories, and thought District 13 had been destroyed in the war. Obviously, that wasn't true. Memories can... change." His voice broke, and I wanted to reach out, do something as it did, but I wasn't sure if he would let me. "I think writing down what we remember, and what we continue to remember is a... it's a good idea."

I stared at him, wondering how he always managed to say everything I wanted to in a way I never could. Before I could even attempt to form a reply, he spoke again.

"Can you write about it?"

"About what?"

"Everything. Anything. From before."

I shook my head, noticing that he didn't want to mention what before was anymore than I did.

"It took me ages to even write Prim's name. I suppose I might be able to write something. Small things. I hope it changes with time. Writing is easier than talking about it, but it's still not easy."

Peeta nodded, and I knew that out of the few people in my life, he really did understand some of what I was going through. It seemed stupid now that I'd been so resistant about talking to him about everything.

"Nothing is ever easy," he offered and I laughed.

"I know."

We sat in silence, absorbing everything that had just passed between us. Eventually, Peeta stood, and for a moment, I thought he was going to leave me. Words of protest caught in my throat as instead, he came and sat beside me, determination clear in his face. I didn't say anything, but leaned into his side once he was seated, no longer sure if I was doing this for him or for me. There didn't seem to be a difference anymore.

"I was thinking about the plant book," he began, and I sat up in confusion.  
"What about it?"

He hesitated, and I recognised the look on his face. He was trying to find the exact words to say. I waited patiently, he would find them eventually.

"I thought that maybe we could make our own. Not about plants, but about the past. Everything that we've seen and done. A memory book."

_Memory book. _

The words entered my mind and stuck there, growing and changing as he waited for a reply. A book dedicated to all that could be, but shouldn't be forgotten. Something that could help us, and maybe help others who won't remember what happened in the rebellion and The Games. One to stop us forgetting, and help us separate the real from the unreal.

"A memory book. I like it." I said, smiling at Peeta, then leaning back down against him. This time, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders, holding me close and not letting go.


End file.
